PETER    AND    SUSAN    LESLEY 


LIFE    AND    LETTERS 


LIFE    AND    LETTERS 


OF 


PETER  AND  SUSAN  LESLEY 

Edited  by  their  Daughter 

MARY    LESLEY   AMES 


IN  TWO    VOLUMES 
VOLUME  I 


G.     P.     PUTNAM'S     SONS 
NEW   YORK    AND   LONDON 

Zbe  Iknlcftcrbocfter  ipress 

1909 


1^/ 


Copyright,  1909 
By  MARY  LESLEY  AMES 


OFC  90  1977 


S>ed{cated  to 

MY  SISTER  MARGARET 

AND   TO 
THE  TEN  GRANDCHILDREN 

OF 
PETER  AND  SUSAN  LESLEY 


PREFACE 


It  has  been  my  desire  in  writing  this  Memoir  to  give  a 
hfehke  impression  of  my  father  and  mother.  They  were 
unusually  full  of  vitality,  their  interests  were  varied,  and 
their  affections  strong  and  constant.  Any  account  of  them 
which  did  not  show  their  abundant  strength  of  mind  and 
heart  would  be  of  little  value. 

The  most  direct  and  natural  way  to  accomplish  this  end 
has  seemed  to  be  the  use  of  their  own  intimate  correspond- 
ence, since  by  self-revelation  rather  than  by  the  description 
of  others  is  the  most  vivid  impression  of  personality  made. 
Fortunately  we  had  for  use  not  only  the  long  series  of  their 
letters,  but  also  a  large  number  of  letters  to  intimate  friends. 

It  is  always  difficult  to  decide  how  much  or  how  little 
of  a  private  correspondence  it  is  proper  to  give  to  the  public 
in  such  an  undertaking.  But,  if  a  true  picture  is  to  be 
shown,  family  reserve  must  be  thrown  aside  to  some  extent, 
and  something  more  than  the  mere  chronicle  of  events  or 
the  statement  of  abstract  opinions  must  be  included.  In 
preparing  these  volumes,  I  have  had  it  constantly  in  mind 
that  they  would  be  read  by  many  friends  for  whom  every- 
thing that  related  to  my  father  and  mother  would  have 
interest,  and  perhaps  on  that  account  I  have  included  more 
than  would  have  been  done  for  an  impersonal  public. 

The  method  of  portraiture  by  means  of  letters  has  the 
disadvantage  of  lack  of  continuity  in  any  particular  subject. 
But  what  it  lacks  in  that  respect  it  gains  in  vividness.  And, 
since  I  have  not  so  much  wished  to  make  a  full  record  of  the 
external  events  of  their  lives  as  to  give  a  faithful  picture  of 
their  personalities,  I  have  felt  this  method  to  be  best  fitted 
to  my  purpose. 

Where  persons  are  variously  occupied,  where  their  lives 
run  in  a  full,  wide  stream,  their  letters  naturally  pass  rapidly 


viii  PREFACE 

from  one  topic  to  another,  from  one  scene  to  another;  and 
yet  at  any  one  period  there  is  apt  to  be  a  predominance  of 
some  great  interest  which  will  give  a  certain  unity  to  the 
correspondence.  I  think  there  will  be  found  such  a  unity 
in  parts  of  these  volumes,  as  in  the  ante-helium  times  when 
slavery  questions  were  in  the  ascendant,  during  the  war 
itself,  and  again  in  the  chapters  on  the  Pennsylvania  State 
Geological  Survey  and  the  organization  of  the  Associated 
Charities  of  Philadelphia. 

I  have  not  thought  it  best  to  dwell  on  things  which  were 
not  made  of  much  account  by  my  parents  themselves. 
There  was  much  ill-health  in  their  lives,  but  I  have  omitted 
constant  mention  of  this  fact,  for  it  was  seldom  allowed  by 
them  to  be  an  excuse  or  impediment  when  important  mat- 
ters were  to  be  accomplished.  Again,  they  were  people  of 
strong  feeling,  strong  impressions,  and  strong  prejudices. 
I  have  tried  not  to  show  these  characteristics  unduly,  for 
they  were  usually  controlled  by  good  will  and  wise  judgment. 

I  have  not  attempted  to  write  of  my  father's  scientific 
life,  not  being  competent  to  do  so;  but  in  the  Appendix 
will  be  found  several  of  the  obituary  notices  written  by  sci- 
entific friends,  which  will  to  some  extent  supply  this  omis- 
sion. 

In  deciding  on  his  signature,  I  have  used  his  baptismal 
name,  ''Peter  Lesley,"  rather  than  that  by  which  he  was 
known  in  scientific  and  business  circles, — "J.  P.  Lesley." 
The  J.  stood  merely  for  "Junior,"  which  he  placed  in  front 
instead  of  at  the  end  of  his  signature.  In  early  life  he 
much  disliked  his  Christian  name,  and  this  was  undoubtedly 
his  reason  for  adding  this  initial.  Later  he  would  have  been 
glad  to  drop  it,  but  while  in  active  business  found  it  incon- 
venient to  do  so. 

The  chapters  have  generally  been  named  from  the  cir- 
cumstances of  my  father's  life. 

In  the  original  letters  there  was  much  variation  in  the 
spelling  of  names  and  of  places.  In  many  cases  unification 
was  impossible,  and  I  have  been  obliged  to  give  up  any  at- 
tempt at  consistency  in  this  respect. 

I  wish  to  express  my  gratitude  to  various  friends  who 


PREFACE  IX 

have  aided  me  in  this  work,  —  to  my  husband,  without 
whose  encouragement  and  constant  help  in  preparation  and 
revision  I  could  never  have  accomphshed  it  at  all;  to  my 
sister  for  similar  aid,  and  to  whom  most  of  the  illustration 
of  the  volume  is  due;  to  my  friend  Ruth  Putnam  for  valu- 
able aid  in  revision;  to  my  cousin  Benjamin  Smith  Lyman, 
to  whom  I  have  constantly  appealed  for  the  verification  of 
facts;  to  Mr.  E.  V.  D'Invilliers,  who  has  assisted  me  in  a 
similar  way;  to  my  friend  Eliza  Orne  White  and  my 
cousin  Henry  Stilwell  for  valuable  letters;  and  to  Mr.  B. 
S.  Lyman,  Professor  J.  J.  Stevenson,  Dr.  H.  M.  Chance, 
Mr.  Baird  Halberstadt,  Dr.  Persifor  Frazer,  Sir  Archibald 
Geikie,  and  Dr.  Charles  Gordon  Ames,  for  biographical 
matter;  also  to  my  friend  Miss  Susan  Hale  for  permission 
to  use  as  illustrations  some  sketches  which  she  added  to 
my  mother's  Nile  Journal.  To  all  of  these  friends  I  return 
hearty  thanks. 

Mary  L.  Ames. 
St.  Paul,  Minnesota,  January,  1909. 


CONTENTS    OF   VOLUME   I 


Chapter  Page 

I.    Childhood.     1819-1832 i 

II.    Youth.     1832-1837 12 

III.  First  Experience  in  Geological  Work.    1839-1841,  20 

IV.  Princeton.    Theological  School.     1841-1844 ...  39 
V.    First  Trip  to  Europe 55 

VI.     Switzerland  and  Germany 102 

VII.    Life  as  a  Colporteur.     1845 ^34 

VIII.    First  Year  in  Boston.    1847 142 

IX.  First  Year  of  Parish  Work,  Milton.     1848  ....  162 

X.    Engagement.    1848 170 

XL    Marriage,  and  Milton  Life.     1849-1851 213 

XII.     Summer  of  185  i  in  Pottsville 238 

XIII.  Last  Days    in    Milton.     Removal    to    Philadel- 
phia AND  A  Scientific  Career.     1852 262 

XrV.    Professional  Life.    1853-1858 283 

XV.    Eagleswood.     Summer  of  1858 356 

XVI.    Ante-bellum  Times.     1858-1861 361 

XVII.    War  Times.     1861-1863 393 

XVIII.     Second  Voyage  to  Europe.     1863-1864 436 

XIX.  Last  Year  of  the  Civil  War.    1864-1865    ....  481 

XX.    Lowell  Lectures.     1865- 1866 504 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page 

Portrait  from  a  Painting  of  Peter  Lesley  by  his  Daugh- 
ter Margaret  L.  Bush-Brown Frontispiece 

Portraits  of  Peter  Lesley,  Sr.,  and  his  Wife  Elizabeth 

Allen  Lesley opposite        8 

Sketches  of  St.  George  de  Boucherville  .......    72,  73 

Church  of  St.  Etienne,  Caen 77;  78 

Dolmen  near  Saumur 83,  84 

Chateau  near  Vic 98 

Portrait    of    Mrs.     Warren    Delano     (Catherine    Ly- 
man)   opposite     164 

Portrait  of  Judge  Joseph  Lyman opposite    171 

Portrait  OF  Mrs.  Anne  Jean  Lyman opposite    173 

Portrait  of  Susan  Inches  Lyman  from  Painting  by  Chester 

Harding opposite    175 

Portrait    of    Susan    Inches    Lyman    from    Painting    by 

Sully opposite    181 

Portrait    of    Peter    Lesley   from   an    old    daguerreo- 
type   opposite    213 

Portraits  of  Susan  Inches  Lesley  and  Peter  Lesley  from 

old  daguerreotypes opposite    283 

Portrait  of  Peter  Lesley  from  Painting  by  William  Henry 

FuRNESS opposite    350 

Portrait  of  Susan  Inches  Lesley  from  old  daguerreo- 
type.  opposite    356 


CHAPTER  I 
Childhood,    i  819-1832 

Peter  Lesley  was  born  in  Philadelphia  on  September 
17,  1819, — Constitution  Day,  as  he  hked  to  call  it.  He  was 
the  fourth  of  that  name  in  direct  succession. 

On  the  margin  of  one  of  the  family  papers  I  find  these 
words  in  my  father's  handwriting:  "Grandfather's  name 
was  Peter.     His  father,  the  Miller  of  Fifeshire,  was  Peter." 

This  "  Miller  of  Fifeshire"  was  the  first  dim  forefather  of 
our  race.  Back  of  him  I  find  no  record  and  of  him  only 
this  mention  of  his  name. 

His  son,  Peter  the  Second,  was  a  carpenter  or  cabinet- 
maker from  Aberdeenshire,  Scotland,  who  came  over  to  this 
country,  landed  in  Boston,  and  (sending  his  kit  of  tools 
round  by  sea)  made  his  way  on  foot  from  there  to  Phila- 
delphia, where  he  estabhshed  himself  in  a  shop,  and  lived 
honorably  and  industriously,  raising  a  family  of  sons  and 
daughters. 

He  married  twice;  lost  his  first  family  of  children  (or 
most  of  them);  and  by  his  second  wife,  Catherine  Ketler 
(or  Kitler),  a  Pennsylvania  German  woman,  had  five  sons, 
Peter,  James,  John  (who  died  young),  Joseph,  and  Robert. 
Two  daughters,  Ann  and  Mary,  were  probably  children 
by  his  first  wife. 

In  a  letter  from  my  father  to  Professor  O.  N.  Rood* 
he  writes  that  this  grandfather  (Peter  the  Second)  "hired 
and  Hved  all  the  rest  of  his  life  in  a  wooden  house,  built 
on  the  north  fine  of  the  city  by  WiUiam  Penn  for  his  gardener, 
which  house  and  lot  he  afterwards  purchased  and  added  to." 

In  a  letter  of  my  father's  of  July  4,  1865,  to  his  little 
daughter  Margaret,  are  these  words:   "89  years  ago  your 

*  See  Appendix  for  this  letter. 
I 


2  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  i 

great-grandfather  Lesley  took  his  musket  to  fight  for  Lib- 
erty under  General  Washington." 

These  few  facts  are  all  that  I  know  of  Peter  Lesley  the 
Second,  my  father's  grandfather.  Five  old  paper-covered 
volumes,  "Shop-book"  records,  are  his  only  literary  remains, 
— these  and  his  will,  of  which  his  son  Peter  was  the  executor. 

My  grandfather,  Peter  Lesley  the  Third,  must  have  been 
born  about  1792,  and  was  the  oldest  of  the  five  sons  men- 
tioned above.  He  was  of  half  Scotch  and  half  German 
blood,  and  a  man  of  vigorous  character  and  strong  mind. 
With  him  begins  the  actual  family  record. 

As  in  most  Scotch  famihes,  the  matter  of  the  education 
of  the  children  was  taken  seriously;  and  my  grandfather 
Peter  was  intended  to  be  a  university  man,  and  was  edu- 
cated towards  that  end.  But,  just  as  he  was  to  enter  upon 
his  collegiate  career,  his  father  died,  leaving  his  widow 
Catherine  and  his  daughters  and  younger  sons  to  the  care 
of  this  young  Peter.  There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but 
to  give  up  college  and  take  to  the  shop,  and  this  he  cheer- 
fully did.  He  was  but  seventeen  or  eighteen  years  old,  but 
from  that  time  on  he  seems  to  have  been  recognized  as  the 
head  of  the  family,  to  whom  all  cares  must  be  brought  and 
by  whom  all  burdens  could  be  borne.  He  attended  to  the 
affairs  not  only  of  his  mother  and  young  brothers,  but  of 
certain  cousins,  and  later,  when  himself  married,  to  the 
affairs  of  his  wife's  parents  and  sisters.  In  the  many  letters 
from  and  to  him  there  is  a  spirit  of  cheerful  alacrity  and 
Vs-arm  affection  in  his  deahngs  with  this  numerous  family 
connection,  which  gives  one  the  impression  of  a  noble  and 
gentle  character,  full  both  of  power  and  affection.  Such 
was  my  father's  father. 

My  father's  mother  was  Elizabeth  Oswald  Allen,  daughter 
of  John  and  Sarah  Allen,*  of  Charlestown,  Mass.  John 
Allen  was  a  printer,  and,  being  burnt  out  in  the  Charles- 
town  fire,  he  removed  himself  and  family  to  Philadelphia^ 
where  he  again  established  himself  as  a  printer. 


*  For  further  genealogy  of  her  family  see,  in  Appendix,   letter  from 
Peter  Leslej'  to  his  daughter  Mary,  April  23,  1891. 


CHILDHOOD  3 

EKzabeth  was  the  eldest,  I  believe,  of  three  daughters, 
and  a  beautiful  character.  She  seems  to  have  been  of  a 
serene  and  cheerful  spirit,  with  a  certain  sprightliness  of 
mind  and  a  poetic  quality,  in  that  her  love  of  beauty  in 
nature  was  very  keen,  and  that  at  an  early  age  she  was  fond 
of  putting  her  thoughts  into  verse.  She  was  born  about  1 790, 
and  was  some  few  years  older  than  my  grandfather.  They 
were  engaged  to  each  other  for  a  number  of  years,  circum- 
stances forbidding  their  marriage  until  the  young  Peter 
felt  safe  to  add  the  cares  of  a  family  of  his  own  to  those  he 
already  carried.  The  letters  between  the  two  young  people 
during  these  waiting  years  are  interesting  only  to  their 
descendants,  but  they  show  fine  character  on  both  sides 
and  a  lasting  depth  of  affection.  Peter's  letters  are  ardent, 
sometimes  a  little  impatient,  deeply  affectionate;  EHza- 
beth's,  serene  and  earnest  and  equally  fond.  Both  were 
of  a  sincerely  religious  turn  of  mind;  and,  although  bred 
up  in,  and  devoted  to  the  Presbyterian  faith,  they  were  not 
bigoted  in  their  behef,  nor  gloomy  in  their  outlook.  The 
love  rather  than  the  fear  of  God,  seems  to  have  filled  their 
thoughts. 

Here  is  a  httle  poem  written  by  Ehzabeth  when  she  was 
about  eleven  years  old: — 

On  Schuylkill  bank  I  love  to  stray, 
While  the  last  departing  ray 
Of  sober  Sol  with  yellow  locks 
Slow  creeps  behind  the  jutting  rocks, 
And  bids  the  world  good-night. 

Now  he  is  gone,  and  o'er  the  green 

The  sparchin  sun  no  more  is  seen, 

But  silent,  calm,  serene,  and  fair, 

The  moon  takes  up  her  nightly  care 

And  sweetly  spreads  her  light 

O'er  the  soft  gliding  wave,  emblem  of  death. 

E.  O.  Allen. 

Ehzabeth  had  a  merry  spirit  and  a  quick  but  gentle 
tongue,  and  the  family  tradition  is  that  she  was  also  very 


4  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap.  I 

pretty.  She  and  her  two  younger  sisters  kept  a  small  mil- 
linery shop  at  one  time,  and  this  little  story  is  told  of  her: 
She  was  sitting  one  evening  after  her  day's  work  was  done, 
resting  herself  on  the  doorstep,  when  some  young  dandies 
passed  along  the  street.  One  of  them  stopped,  and,  gazing 
at  her  earnestly,  said  in  a  sentimental  tone,  "O  Frailty, 
thy  name  is  woman!"  Elizabeth,  rising,  responded  with 
indignation,  "O  Impudence,  thy  name  is  man!"  and  has- 
tily retired  into  the  house. 

In  a  letter  to  one  of  her  sisters,  written  somewhat  later, 
I  find  these  sentences,  probably  quoted,  but  showing  her 
broad-minded,  religious  faith: — 

This  is  the  Sabbath  of  rest.  ...  I  must  say  with  William 
Savery  *  it  is  not  systems  nor  opinions,  it  is  neither  High  Church 
nor  Low  Church  that  I  am  speaking  about  now.  There  is  but 
one  true  and  living  church  the  whole  world  over.  Men  may 
call  themselves  what  they  please.  The  world  calls  me  a  Quaker; 
thee  a  Dissenter  in  another  form;  and  thee  a  member  of  the  Es- 
tabhshed  Church;  but  what  is  this?  My  friends,  they  are 
names;  they  are  distinctions  among  men;  but  are  they  distinc- 
tions before  God  ?  Does  He  know  High  Church  or  Low  Church  ? 
Does  He  descend  to  inquire  whether  thou  art  a  Methodist  or  a 
Presbyterian,  thou  a  Baptist,  thou  a  Roman  Catholic?  No;  but 
is  thy  heart  right  ?  Art  thou  sincere  in  thy  desires  to  know  Him 
and  to  serve  Him?  This  is  the  great  point, — to  know  Him  and 
to  know  thy  own  self,  .  .  .  which  may  all  of  us  do,  for  our  Re- 
deemer's sake. 

The  young  people  in  their  long  period  of  waiting  led  very 
busy  lives,  and  had  few  times  of  recreation.  Perhaps  those 
few  were  the  more  prized.  Peter  writes  in  regard  to  one 
little  excursion  which  he  proposed  for  a  free  day,  "The 
romantic  scenery  of  Wissahickon  is  undoubtedly  the  prefer- 
able, but  perhaps  the  mild  serenity  of  Hamilton  will  delight 
more  the  ever-placid  mind  of  Elizabeth." 

My  grandfather  and  grandmother  were  married  about 
1816,  and  their  life  until  her  death  on  August  iS,  1832,  was 

*  A  Quaker  preacher,  a  tanner  by  trade.  (See  Life  of  Isaac  T.  Hop- 
per, by  Lydia  Maria  Child,  pp.  38  and  446.) 


CHILDHOOD  5 

one  of  complete  happiness  in  each  other.  They  had  many 
cares  and  small  means,  but  they  lacked  for  nothing  essential ; 
and  they  knew  it.  As  the  years  passed,  many  children 
came,  and  each  new  arrival  was  hailed  with  joy  and  grati- 
tude by  the  parents.  But  Elizabeth  was  not  strong,  and  a 
growing  anxiety  shadowed  Peter's  hfe  lest  she  should  be 
taken  from  him,  and  it  required  all  his  faith  in  the  goodness 
of  God  to  live  his  hfe  cheerfully.  She  had  often  to  leave 
home  to  regain  strength.  Sometimes  she  went  alone,  some- 
times she  took  one  or  more  of  the  children  with  her;  and 
it  is  owing  to  these  absences  that  we  have  any  record  of  my 
father's  early  days,  for  his  father  and  mother  wrote  almost 
daily  to  each  other,  and  their  letters  have  been  preserved. 

My  father,  Peter  the  Fourth,  was  born,  as  I  have  said 
before,  September  17,  1819.  He  was  the  third  child,  and 
five  brothers  followed  him,  who  lived  to  grow  up.  I  beheve 
there  were  ten  children  in  all,  but  I  find  record  of  but  eight. 
His  sister  EHzabeth  was  four  years  older  than  himself;  and 
there  was  an  Allen,  who  Hved  but  a  few  days,  born  a  year 
before  himself.  Following  Peter  were  another  Allen,  Henry, 
Wilham,  Alexander  (who  hved  but  two  and  a  half  years), 
and  Joseph.  A  half-brother,  Alexander,  born  years  later, 
completes  the  tale. 

Thus  httle  Peter  had  the  inestimable  blessing  of  being 
born  of  a  happy  marriage,  and  of  being  received  as  a  gift  of 
God  by  grateful  parents. 

He  was  an  extremely  nervous  and  sensitive  child.  His 
mother's  words,  "O  Peter,  I  wish  this  child  were  in  Abram's 
bosom!  He  has  not  ceased  to  cry  for  two  days,"  tell  of 
much  weary  tending.  But  often  the  baby  would  be  brought 
into  the  shop  by  the  busy  mother,  and  seated  among  shavings 
in  a  coffin  which  the  father  was  fashioning,  for  in  those  days 
cabinet-makers  were  also  in  charge  of  this  lugubrious  work. 
There,  amused  arid  happy,  the  httle  Peter  spent  many  hours, 
watching  the  shavings  fly  and  listening  to  the  merry  tap-tap 
of  the  hammer.  His  father  was  an  ardent  baby-lover,  and 
later  the  best  teacher  that  the  boy  had  in  practical  arts  and 
handicrafts.  There  is  constant  mention  of  the  child  in  his 
father's  letters:    "Peter  is  very  lively,  says  many  words, — 


6  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  i 

learning  very  fast,  and  cunning  as  ever."  "Peter  dancing 
and  capering  around  the  room"  (i|  years  old).  And  one 
letter  speaks  of  him  as  a  very  beautiful  and  engaging  child. 
It  is  the  simple  record  of  fond  parents. 

As  the  child  grew  older,  he  was  often  sent  up  to  Lan- 
caster to  visit,  where  lived  his  mother's  sisters,  who  were 
as  devoted  to  him  as  parents,  and  where  there  was  greater 
freedom  and  country  life. 

As  he  increased  in  size  and  activity  and  was  sent  to  school, 
he  led  the  usual  life  of  a  healthy  boy.  He  used. to  tell  us  of 
the  delight  of  climbing  and  running  over  the  long  roofs  of 
a  vinegar  factory  which  was  next  door  to  his  father's  house; 
of  great  snowball  battles  between  the  boys  of  his  school  and 
those  of  a  rival  educational  establishment.  Philadelphia 
in  the  twenties  was  a  small  city,  and  boys  could  barricade 
streets  or  sidewalks  with  an  impunity  unknown  to  these 
later  days.  I  was  amused  to  read  in  one  of  my  grandfather's 
letters  that  as  late  as  1831  there  were  chains  stretched  across 
the  streets  near  the  Second  Presbyterian  Church,  to  prevent 
vehicles  passing  during  service  time  on  the  "Sabbath." 
Peter  Lesley,  the  father,  at  that  date  writes  in  great  distress 
to  his  brother  James  in  Harrisburg,  hoping  that  a  bill  will 
not  pass  the  legislature  abolishing  this  useful  precaution 
for  silence  in  the  neighboring  streets  during  divine  service. 

In  my  father's  day  there  were  no  "athletics,"  so  called, 
but  there  was  the  usual  immemorial  cycle  of  games,  and  I 
think  he  joined  in  them  with  zest  and  enjoyment.  He  was 
considered  a  fine  runner,  and  there  was  but  one  boy  in  the 
school  who  could  catch  him. 

One  serious  disability  he  had, — he  was  abnormally  near- 
sighted. This  was  not  discovered  until  he  was  six  or  seven 
years  old,  and  until  then  he  had  the  reputation  of  being  a 
very  careless  and  awkward  child,  because  he  was  contin- 
ually knocking  things  over  or  tumbling  over  things  himself. 
One  day  he  was  taken  to  see  a  "Panorama,"  and,  after 
sitting  patiently  half  an  hour,  he  pulled  his  aunt's  arm,  and 
asked,  "When  will  it  begin?"  only  to  find  that  it  had  been 
going  on  before  his  very  eyes  only  a  few  feet  off,  and  he 
quite  unconscious  of  it.    So  he  was  at  once  put  into  power- 


CHILDHOOD  7 

ful  glasses,  an  almost  unheard-of  thing  for  children  in  those 
days;  and  often,  as  he  passed  along  the  streets,  he  would  be 
stopped  and  his  little  face  turned  upward,-  that  some  friendly 
or  curious  passer-by  might  regard  the  spectacled  child. 

In  other  respects  he  was  a  healthy  boy,  but  with  a  sen- 
sitive, nervous  temperament  and  extremely  acute  senses. 
His  hearing  was  so  keen  and  the  organ  so  sensitive  that  until 
he  was  a  grown  man  he  suffered  torture  from  noises;  and 
sounds  which  were  the  delight  of  other  boys  gave  him  an- 
guish. He  ran  and  hid  himself  if  a  band  passed  by.  The 
noise  of  guns  and  the  crash  of  thunder  were  things  to  dread, 
because  they  caused  him  actual  physical  pain. 

His  sense  of  smell  and  his  sense  of  touch  were  also  very 
keen,  and  he  used  to  say  in  later  hfe  that  in  certain  kinds  of 
mechanical  representation,  such  as  relief-map  making,  etc., 
the  human  hand  was  capable  of  recognizing  the  slightest 
variations  of  level, — ^and  I  believe  his  was. 

Peter  was  sent  to  school  young,  and  the  family  tradition 
was  that  he  was  an  apt  scholar,  but  he  seldom  spoke  of  his 
school  or  lessons  in  later  life.  I  have  only  one  record  of 
those  early  school-days.  In  a  copy  of  "  Sanford  and  Merton," 
which  he  gave  me  on  my  eleventh  birthday,  he  wrote  on 
the  fly-leaf  these  words:  "This  book  was  my  delight  when 
a  boy.  It  was  given  to  me  as  a  prize  for  a  successful  exam- 
ination upon  Bonnycastle's  Algebra,  when  I  was  eight  or 
ten  years  old.  It  rivalled  'Robinson  Crusoe'  and  'The 
Pilgrim's  Progress'  in  my  young  affections."  And  I  have 
heard  him  say  that  he  was  considered  quick  at  mathematics. 
He  had  a  long  course  in  German,  probably  beginning  as 
a  child,  and  in  Latin,  but  of  that  he  said  that  he  never  liked 
it  or  made  much  progress  in  it.  History  I  am  sure  he  loved, 
and  geography  seemed  to  come  to  him  naturally,  for  all  his 
life  he  pored  over  and  delighted  in  maps ;  and  many  were 
the  imaginary  journeys  which  he  took  over  land  and  sea. 

He  wasjndeed  a  very  imaginative  child,  and  this  charac- 
teristic caused  him  both  joy  and  misery.  While  the  sun 
shone,  he  was  a  merry  creature,  fearless,  and  full  of  resources : 
with  darkness  came  terrors.  Until  a  grown  man  he  suffered 
from  this  fear  of  the  dark,  and  he  used  to  say  that  it  came 


8  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  i 

of  his  Scotch  blood.  On  the  other  hand,  he  used  to  imag- 
ine pleasures  in  advance  of  their  coming,  so  vividly,  that 
when  the  event  occurred  which  he  had  so  joyously  antici- 
pated, he  no  longer  cared  anything  about  it.  When  scarcely 
more  than  a  baby,  his  aunt  dressed  him  in  "Sunday  best" 
for  a  certain  visit  which  he  had  much  desired.  But  an  hour 
later,  when  ready  herself,  she  found  Peter  no  longer  wishing 
to  go.  "Now,  Peter,  I  don't  dress  you  for  nothing — you 
will  go  with  me!"  And  he  was  borne  off,  vv'eeping.  Often 
in  later  years,  when  friends  had  heard  him  plan  in  detail, 
and  with  the  most  evident  delight,  some  journey  to  be  taken 
in  the  near  future,  did  they  wonder  when  no  such  journey 
came  to  pass,  and  no  doubt  considered  him  fickle  or  unstable 
of  purpose.  But  his  own  people  knew  that  his  imagination 
so  completely  fulfilled  his  desire  for  the  fact,  that  its  prac- 
tical accomplishment  was  unnecessary  to  his  pleasure  or 
satisfaction. 

Of  my  father's  early  home  only  a  few  glimpses  are  given 
to  me.  There  was  the  simple  family  life,  and  simple  but 
abundant  fare;  mother  and  father  busy,  but  not  too  busy 
to  feel  interest  in  the  children's  joys  and  sorrows.  It  must 
have  been  a  rather  tumultuous  household,  for  there  were 
the  four  or  five  boys,  full  of  the  nervous  activity  and  quick 
temper  which  they  had  inherited  from  their  father,  and  the 
imagination  and  vivacity  which  had  come  to  them  from 
their  mother.  My  father  used  to  look  at  the  quieter  ways 
of  his  grandchildren,  and  remark  that  in  his  day  there  was 
more  of  "friction."  He  recalled  one  occasion  when  he  and 
his  brothers  chased  each  other  round  the  dining  table,  bran- 
dishing chairs  aloft, — if  not  with  intent  to  kill,  at  least  with 
small  friendliness  in  their  little  hearts.  On  the  whole,  how- 
ever, harmony  reigned,  and  strong  affection. 

My  grandfather  had  certain  practical  views  as  to  edu- 
cation, more  akin  to  our  most  modern  theories,  than  to  the 
scholasticism  of  that  date.  He  trained  the  observation  of 
the  children  in  a  way  of  his  own.  The  half-hour  after  the 
noon  meal  was  devoted  to  them,  and  he  taught  them  at  an 
early  age  to  draw  from  objects.  If  nothing  better  offered, 
he  would  cut  the  loaf  of  bread  into  shapes,  and  make  them 


CHILDHOOD  9 

copy  that.  Then,  if  they  went  anywhere,  they  were  expected 
to  tell  in  detail  about  what  they  saw,  and  he  corrected  and 
explained.  He  taught  them  the  rudiments  of  architecture, 
making  them  observe  and  draw  any  architectural  detail 
which  he  or  they  thought  worthy.  He  was  himself  an  excel- 
lent draughtsman,  and  usually  made  use  of  a  pencil  in  ex- 
plaining things  to  his  children.  The  children  in  turn  soon 
caught  the  same  habit,  and  in  later  Hfe  I  seldom  saw  my 
father  or  my  uncles  talking  together  without  sooner  or  later 
seeing  the  pencil  and  paper  appear,  and  any  mooted  point 
was  made  clear  by  a  few  strokes.  None  of  these  boys  be- 
came artists  by  profession,  but  several  of  them  drew  and 
painted  with  much  talent,  and  all  of  them  found  this  early 
acquired  skill  in  handhng  art  implements  of  great  assist- 
ance to  them  in  their  various  professions,  and  a  constant 
source  of  pleasure  and  recreation  throughout  life. 

My  father  writes  of  this  home  training  in  his  autobio- 
graphical letter  to  Mr.  Rood,  as  follows : — 

In  fact,  I  have  no  " family  relations  of  interest  to  science," 
unless  it  be  that  I  owe  all  that  I  am  and  have  been  able  to  do  to 
the  early  training  which  I  received  from  a  very  wise  father,  and 
to  the  artistic  nature  of  my  mother.  We  were  all  taught  perspec- 
tive drawing,  machine  drawing,  and  geographical  plotting,  in 
early  childhood,  between  the  plates  on  the  breakfast,  dinner  and 
supper  table;  statistics,  by  reference  to  the  volumes  of  an  encyclo- 
paedia kept  at  hand;  archaeology,  from  a  fine  copy  of  Calmet; 
mechanics,  from  a  copy  of  the  "  Circle  of  the  Arts";  and  language 
by  constant  dialectic  discussions  of  the  proper  meanings  of  words 
and  exact  force  of  sentences.  We  were  drilled  daily  in  describing 
events  so  that  they  could  be  understood,  and  in  drawing  every 
kind  of  object  in  its  true  proportions,  long  before  we  went  to  a 
grammar  school.  And  in  our  father's  workshop  we  were  allowed 
to  become  expert  in  the  use  of  tools,  and  to  try  our  hand  at  in- 
ventions. I  remember  making  a  small  steam-engine  which 
puffed  across  the  kitchen  floor.  In  the  summer  vacations  we 
all  had  our  competitive  windmills  and  watermills.  My  father 
was  one  of  the  earliest  shareholders  in  the  Louisville  &  Lehigh 
Canal  Companies;  was  never  weary  of  instructing  us  boys  in  the 
Internal  Improvement  of  the  United  States;  and  encouraged  our 
closest  inquiries  into  the  anthracite  coal  trade,  and  all  that  con- 


10  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  i 

cerned  mining  and  transportation.  At  the  same  time,  he  was  a 
lover  of  the  EngHsh  classics,  read  aloud  to  us  modern  and  ancient 
histories,  and  was  thoroughly  versed  in  theological  controversies. 
Neither  our  reasoning  faculties  nor  our  imaginations  were  allowed 
to  repose,  and  no  mischievous  or  silly  literature  entered  the  house; 
but  we  were  given  the  largest  liberty  in  athletic  games;  and  in 
frequent  long  walks  he  kept  our  attention  awake  to  the  works 
of  nature,  as  much  as  to  the  works  of  art.  We  were  sent  to  the 
best  schools,  and  were  not  only  taught  Latin  and  Greek,  but  had 
private  teachers  in  French  and  German;  but,  certainly,  the  in- 
struction which  we  received  from  our  father  was  worth  more, 
in  a  strictly  scientific  sense,  than  what  we  received  from  all  other 
sources  put  together;  for  it  laid  a  deep  and  broad  foundation  for 
original  investigation,  not  merely  in  one,  but  in  various  branches 
of  human  knowledge;  and  started  us  on  our  careers  equipped 
for  both  seeing,  thinking  and  describing,  what  we  felt  to  be  use- 
ful and  beautiful,  as  what  we  believed  to  be  true. 


But,  when  Peter  was  just  under  thirteen  years  old,  the 
home  life  was  sadly  broken  by  the  death  of  his  mother,  after 
several  years  of  ill-health. 

After  the  mother's  death  the  family  still  kept  together 
for  a  few  years.  Young  Elizabeth,  then  sixteen  years  old, 
did  her  best  to  be  a  mother  to  the  boys,  who  at  this  time 
ranged  from  the  twelve-year-old  Peter  to  little  Joseph,  a 
baby  only  a  year  old.  The  next  older  child,  Alexander, 
a  beautiful  boy  something  over  two  years  of  age,  had 
died  shortly  before  his  mother,  and  the  grandmother,  Cath- 
erine Lesley,  died,  also,  a  few  months  after  Elizabeth,  so 
that  1 83 1  was  a  sad  year  for  the  family.  Young  Elizabeth 
was  a  lovely  and  lovable  character,  with  her  mother's  beauty 
and  love  of  the  beautiful,  but  with  an  anxious  and  nervous 
temperament,  which  was  naturally  intensified  by  the  care 
of  such  a  household  at  so  early  an  age.  Young  Peter  in 
his  letters  home,  when  absent  on  visits  to  the  aunts  in  Lan- 
caster or  to  his  uncle  James  Lesley  in  Harrisburg  or  else- 
where, often  speaks  of  his  sister  with  deep  affection,  sends 
her  many  messages,  and  begs  her  to  be  less  anxious  over 
her  "blessed  charges,"  the  boys. 

Three  years  after  his  wife's  death  my  grandfather  mar- 


CHILDHOOD  II 

ried  again.  This  proved  not  an  entirely  happy  change  for 
the  children,  although  there  seems  to  have  been  no  serious 
friction  in  the  household.  A  young  half-brother,  Alexander, 
was  born,  who  was  received  by  them  all  with  joy,  and  ten- 
derly loved  until  his  death  as  a  young  man.  Ehzabeth 
married,  and  the  boys  followed  various  academic  courses. 
Peter  went  to  the  university,  and  the  young  life  of  the  family 
was  at  an  end. 


CHAPTER  II 

Youth.     1832-1837 

The  earliest  letters  of  my  father  extant  were  written 
from  Abington  just  before  his  mother's  death. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  parents  to  send  the  children  out 
of  the  summer  heat  of  Philadelphia  into  the  country, — 
sometimes  to  the  aunts  in  Lancaster,  occasionally  to  some 
cousins  in  New  Jersey,  sometimes  boarding  them  at  some 
nearer  farm  or  country  town. 

Peter's  letters  from  Abington  in  the  August  of  1832  are 
to  his  sister  Ehzabeth  and  his  father,  and  are  full  of  the 
ordinary  boyish  amusements, — fishing,  swimming,  etc.  His 
younger  brothers,  Allen,  Henry,  and  William,  are  there  with 
him;  and  he  writes  of  their  doings  and  condition  with  elder 
brotherly  care,  and  inquires  with  anxious  solicitude  about 
his  mother's  health  and  that  of  the  baby,  Joseph.  It  was 
the  year  of  the  cholera,  and  he  is  anxious  lest  those  he  loves 
at  home  should  be  attacked  by  it.  His  letters  to  his  father 
are  manly  and  affectionate,  with  much  about  the  younger 
brothers  and  inquiries  for  all  at  home,  including  the  grand- 
parents, aunts,  and  uncles.  He  adds,  "Wright's  children 
are  well,"  and  "I  can  swim."  These  Wright  children  were 
the  much-loved  neighbors  of  my  father  and  his  brothers, — 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  Peter  Wright,  later  known  in  the 
shipping  world  as  the  head  of  the  firm  Peter  Wright  &  Sons. 

Mr.  Wright  lived  next  door  to  my  grandfather,  and 
had  an  equal  number  of  boys  and  several  daughters,  much 
of  the  same  ages  as  the  Lesley  children.  The  friendship 
thus  early  begun  continued  throughout  life. 

On  March  20,  1834,  there  is  a  letter  from  Peter  in  Phil- 
adelphia to  a  cousin,  giving  a  vivid  description  of  a  monster 
anti-Jacksonite  poHtical  meeting: — 

I  have  just  come  from  the  great  meeting  of  the  Anti-Jack- 
sonites.     I  will  attempt  to  tell  you  some  little  of  a  sight  I  never 


i834  YOUTH  13 

witnessed  before.  About  half-past  three  this  afternoon  I  ar- 
rived at  the  south  entrance  of  the  Independence  Square,  at  which 
the  different  trades  were  entering.  On  the  south  side  of  the  street, 
and  nearly  opposite  the  gate,  in  the  third  story  of  a  brick  building, 
stood  the  ex-secretary  Mr.  Duane,  to  whom,  whenever  a  banner 
passed  his  house,  there  were  given  three  cheers.  Before  I  knew 
who  he  was,  I  pitied  him,  thinking  that  he  was  deranged,  and 
that  he  thought  the  cheers  were  to  him.  After  much  pressing, 
I  got  about  thirty  feet  from  the  platform  erected  over  the  door 
of  the  Tower  on  which  the  steeple  is  built.  But  there  I  stuck 
fast  and  could  get  no  farther,  and  at  some  times  I  believe  if  I  had 
risen  from  the  ground  two  or  three  inches  I  could  not  have  gained 
it  again  for  some  time.  Most  of  the  persons  around  me  had 
their  arms  before  them  on  their  breasts,  and  could  not  look  at  their 
feet.  I  never  knew  before  rightly  what  a  crowd  was.  When 
the  square  was  about  half  filled,  I  heard  one  say  that  there  were 
thirty  thousand  persons  within,  and  afterwards  it  was  filled  en- 
tirely, so  that  I  think  there  must  have  been  at  least  fifty  thousand 
persons  in  and  about  the  square.  The  trees  were  filled  so  full 
that  there  was  danger  of  breaking  down.  The  roofs  were  full, 
and  in  short  every  place  that  could  hold  a  person  had  its  occu- 
pant. Three  gentlemen  spoke;  Mr.  Peter  A.  Brown  first.  He 
spoke  well  and  boldly,  and  then  read  several  resolutions,  which 
were  adopted  unanimously;  two  or  three  persons,  answering 
No,  were  turned  out.  Mr.  Charles  Jack  spoke  next,  and  lastly 
Mr.  Samuel  Rush.  One  of  them,  speaking  of  what  Jackson  has 
done  for  us,  said  that  "it  put  him  in  mind  of  a  story  that  he  had 
heard,  about  an  Irishman  and  his  cow.  This  cow  was  the  best 
in  the  parish,  and  gave  most  milk,  but  as  soon  as  the  pail  was 
full,  would  kick  it  all  over."  After  the  meeting  was  adjourned, 
several  of  the  banners  were  cheered  with  three  cheers,  the  Consti- 
tution with  six,  and  as  soon  as  the  stage  was  taken  down  (which 
was  to  prevent  the  Jackson  party  from  taking  possession  of  it  and 
undoing  all  that  had  been  done),  three  were  given  to  Mr.  Duane. 
And  as  the  Jackson  men  boasted  of  the  4th  of  March,  and  called 
it  the  Glorious  Day,  so  I  think  we  have  a  right  to  call  this  day 
(about  to  be  inscribed  along  with  the  4th  of  July,  1776,  in  the 
Annals  of  History,  as  said  Mr.  Brown)  the  Glorious  20th  of 
March,  1834. 

A  week  later  he  writes  to  his  father  from  Harrisburg 
(whither  he  had  gone  to  visit  his  uncle  James  Lesley),  de- 


14  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  n 

scribing  a  great  iron  foundry  where  the  "rolls"  for  Girard 
College  were  being  made.  He  is  also  very  emphatic  in 
reprobation  of  the  conduct  of  a  careless  clerk  in  the  bank 
of  which  his  uncle  was  cashier,  which  caused  "a  gentleman 
to  be  suspected  of  theft." 

This  uncle,  James  Lesley,  was  very  dear  to  my  father 
throughout  his  hfe,  and  deserves  some  mention  here.  He 
was  the  next  younger  brother  of  my  grandfather,  and  was 
a  man  of  very  strongly  marked  characteristics.  My  grand- 
father, although  of  an  ardent  temperament,  was  conserva- 
tive both  in  regard  to  rehgion  and  pohtics.  Uncle  James, 
more  vivacious  and  with  a  very  active  mind,  was  incHned  to 
be  something  of  a  radical — ^by  comparison.  He  was  a  man 
who  loved  books,  and  was  a  good  deal  of  a  Hnguist,  and 
dehghted  in  the  classics.  He  and  my  grandfather  were 
devoted  to  each  other,  and  constantly  corresponded,  their 
letters  being  largely  on  business  of  the  family  affairs,  inter- 
spersed with  affectionate  inquiries  as  to  family  and  friends. 
Uncle  James  certainly  felt  both  admiration  and  respect  for 
his  older  brother,  although  in  opinion  they  must  sometimes 
have  differed  much;  for  instance,  in  regard  to  slavery.  My 
grandfather  regarded  the  institution  with  dislike,  but  did 
not  consider  it  a  thing  to  be  actively  worked  against.  James, 
on  the  other  hand,  as  early  as  1836,  writes  thus  to  his  brother: 

"If  any  one  asks  you  my  sentiments  on  the  exciting  question 
of  abolition,  just  tell  him  that  I  abhor  and  detest  slavery  in  my 
inmost  soul,  and  that  I  shall  hail  with  pleasure  any  measures 
having  a  tendency  to  remove  peaceably  this  national  disgrace; 
but  I  am  not  now  connected  ndr  do  I  intend  to  connect  myself 
with  any  abolition  society." 

In  later  life  I  believe  he  was  actively  a  member  of  the 
Underground  Railroad,  and  did  good  service  to  the  cause 
of  freeing  the  negro. 

I  remember  my  uncle  James  only  as  an  old  man,  but 
still  full  of  vivacity  and  with  a  certain  whimsically  affec- 
tionate air  that  caused  him  to  be  much  loved.  He  had 
very  bright  eyes  and  a  quick  manner  in  speech  and  action. 


1835  YOUTH  15 

My  father  loved  him  dearly,  and  in  later  life  held  opinions 
more  akin  to  his  uncle's  than  to  his  father's  more  conserva- 
tive standards. 

My  uncle  had  two  sons,  Edward  and  James,  who  were 
throughout  hfe  near  friends  of  my  father  and  his  brothers. 

In  the  August  of  1835  my  father  goes  north  to  visit  cousins 
in  the  Mohawk  Valley,  and  is  charmed  with  the  beauties 
of  the  Hudson  and  Mohawk,  has  fine  times  swimming  and 
riding  horseback.  He  finds  Amsterdam,  where  he  stayed 
for  some  time,  too  much  of  a  city,  and  writes,  "I  love  retire- 
ment," and  rejoices  that  he  is  going  into  greater  "solitude" 
on  the  farm  of  another  cousin. 

The  following  summer  he  again  goes  north.  This  time 
his  letters  are  from  Schenectady,  where  he  is  enchanted  with 
the  "beauty  and  stillness  of  the  place." 

He  writes  to  his  father : — 

How  shall  I  describe  midnight  on  the  Hudson!  My  soul 
was  lifted  it  seemed  higher  than  ever  I  felt  it  before,  towards 
the  throne  of  God.  Joy  such  as  the  lover  of  nature's  pure  ro- 
mance alone  can  feel,  I  felt.  It  was  a  glorious  sight.  Fit  for 
an  angel's  gaze.  Oh,  evening  on  the  Hudson!  Give  it  me  even 
before  the  Mohawk's  glorious  scenes,  whose  western  sky  and 
rolling  mists  present  a  splendid  conflagration  of  a  world.  Italia's 
scenes  are  fair  (so  travellers  say),  but  give  me  Hudson's  flood  at 
eve  of  day.  Father,  you  must  forgive  me,  for  I  never  felt  so  in 
my  Hfe.  .  .  .  The  Palisades  rose  high  to  the  left  and  threw  their 
lengthened  shadows  over  waters  on  which  now  and  then  a  pure 
white  sail  sped  swift  adown  the  flood,  and  joined  the  little  fleet 
around  the  point. 

Broad  are  the  hills, 
And  high  the  steeps,  and  deep  the  shadow'd  vales, 
At  brightest  noon  of  Highland  scenery; 
But  broader — higher — deeper  stand  they  forth 
To  midnight  gaze  enraptured. 

But  I  must  stop  or  I'll  be  in  the  third  heaven  of  romantic 
enthusiasm. 

A  fortnight  later  (August  23,  1836)  he  writes  from  Glen 
(near  Amsterdam); — 


i6  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  n 

I  dread  coming  back,  to  sit  a  whole  year  in  the  impure  at- 
mosphere of  Philadelphia,  with  little  or  no  exercise,  and  in  a 
race  with  Greg,  for  the  head  of  the  class;  and  after  all  the  science 
that  I  will  become  master  of,  and  all  the  advantages  that  coming 
out  head  of  the  class  will  make  me  incident  to,  what  will  they 
do  for  me,  when  in  a  year  or  two,  before  I  can  do  the  good  in  the 
world  that  talents  natural  or  acquired  ought  to  force  a  man  to  do, 
I  will  be  laid  low  in  the  grave  "where  there  is  no  Wisdom"? 

Yet  in  the  same  letter  he  writes:  — 

What  would  I  not  give  for  an  hour  or  two  at  home  now;  I 
can  imagine  you  seated  round  the  beautiful  table,  and  I  can  pict- 
ure to  myself  all  that  enlivens,  all  that  instructs,  at  that  to  me 
interesting  and  instructive  time;  for.  Father,  would  you  believe 
it,  I  really  think  that  I  have  received  more  benefit  and  good,  whole- 
some learning  at  our  breakfast  meals,  than  in  all  the  schooling 
and  coUegation  of  ten  years. 

On  February  21,  1837,  my  grandfather  became  secretary 
and  treasurer  of  the  Chesapeake  and  Delaware  Canal  Com- 
pany, and  began  on  his  duties  on  the  2 2d.  This  position 
he  held  until  his  death  eighteen  years  later.  On  April  13 
of  the  same  year  he  married  for  his  second  wife  Mrs.  Su- 
sanna Ehzabeth  Robbins. 

All  through  his  hfe  my  father  suffered  keenly  from  what 
to  less  nervously  sensitive  and  imaginative  persons  would 
have  seemed  slight  physical  ills.  So  that  he  was  frequently 
to  his  own  feeling  "very  ill"  at  one  time  in  the  day,  while 
a  few  hours  later  he  would  declare  himself  "perfectly  well." 
To  strangers  this  was  quite  incomprehensible,  and  he  must 
have  seemed  whimsical  in  regard  to  his  health.  In  youth 
I  suppose  that  he  had  the  same  characteristics,  and  I  find 
in  his  almost  daily  letters  to  his  family  at  home  rapidly  alter- 
nating reports  of  fine  condition  and  of  complete  discomfort. 
That  he  was  not  strong  in  health  was  evident.  He  had 
grown  tall  rapidly;  and,  if  he  worked  then  with  the  inten- 
sity and  continuity  which  were  habitual  in  later  life,  each 
vacation  in  the  school  year  must  have  found  him  in  a  state 
of  semi-exhaustion.     But  then,  as  later,  he  had  great  powers 


i837  YOUTH  17 

of  recuperation,  and  a  few  weeks  or  even  days  of  rest  put  him 
again  in  working  condition. 

It  is  evident,  also,  that  from  early  youth  his  active  mind 
found  interest  in  many  directions.  Nature,  art,  science, 
and  man  interested  him  deeply.  His  earhest  letters  show 
this.  He  was  never  "bored."  He  could  always  find  refuge 
from  pain  or  sorrow  in  some  congenial  pursuit,  in  "books 
or  work  or  healthful  play." 

July  20,  1837,  when  he  was  nearly  eighteen  years  old, 
he  again  went  into  New  York  State,  and  writes  from  Fulton- 
ville  to  his  father,  again  descanting  on  the  beauties  of  the 
Hudson  and  of  his  admiration  of  Poughkeepsie,  describing 
its  charms  and  industries.  On  the  boat  he  had  had  much 
conversation  with  the  passengers: — 

On  the  way  I  made  acquaintance  with  a  half  a  dozen,  and 
got  a  little  information  from  each.  An  old  man  talked  of  the 
Mississippi  and  the  West;  another  of  the  South,  and  told  me, 
among  other  things,  that  the  only  time  he  travelled  in  fear  was 
on  the  S.  C.  R.R.  from  Savannah  to  Augusta,  one  hundred  and 
thirty-six  miles,  one  hundred  and  twenty  of  which  was  through  a 
swamp  (often  forty  feet  above  it  on  stilts)  where  it  was  death  to 
remain  a  night,  and  the  air  was  so  bad  that  it  could  be  tasted. 
They  went  the  whole  distance  in  nine  hours,  and  saw  multitudes 
of  negroes  fiUing  up  around  and  beneath  the  stilts,  working  up 
to  their  knees  in  mud  and  water,  and  under  a  sun  with  the  ther- 
mometer 102°.  .  .  . 

August  22,  1837,  he  writes  to  his  father  from  Lysander 
a  long  and  intimate  letter  concerning  his  health,  his  rehgious 
faith,  his  views  of  marriage,  etc. 

It  must  have  been  already  the  intention  of  his  father,  and 
also  his  own,  that  Peter  should  devote  himself  to  the  ministry 
as  his  hfe-work,  and  that  as  soon  as  his  university  course 
was  finished  he  should  go  to  Princeton  for  his  studies  in 
divinity.  His  health,  however,  was  very  uncertain;  and 
he  often  expresses  the  fear  that  he  will  not  live  to  undertake 
this  work  on  which  his  mind  and  heart  are  much  set. 

September  11,  to  his  stepmother,  he  quotes  Newton 
(a  religious  writer?),  and  is  lonely,  but  cannot  be  "unhappy 


1 8  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  n 

for  a  half -hour  at  a  time"  because  he  has  plenty  to  do. 
Throughout  life,  work  was  my  father's  refuge  from  all  woes. 

I  rode  horseback  to  Elbridge  (ten  miles  south),  and  lost  my 
dinner,  for  they  woiild  not  take  my  money.  So  I  took  Paley's 
sixth  apology  for  stealing  (necessity)  and  a  Dutchman's  apples 
at  the  same  time,  and  with  some  crackers  made  out  well. 

September  14th,  he  writes  to  his  father:  "I  am  becoming 
more  happy  and  contented  every  day,  and  feel  activity  pervade 
every  limb.  I  have  made  a  couple  of  bows  and  practise  archery; 
and  moreover  my  fiddle  bow  does  not  hang  idle.  They  teach 
me  husbandry  fast.     All's  well." 

He  suggests  that  Allen  and  Henry  write  often  to  him  as 
good  practice,  it  being  a  great  advantage  to  write  with  ease ; 
gives  varied  agricultural  information,  etc.;  advises  a  book 
["a  novel,"  forsooth!],  "Harry  and  Lucy,"  by  Miss  Edge- 
worth,  for  the  boys.  "The  first  part  is  to  the  comprehen- 
sion of  Joseph,  the  end  will  puzzle  Allen.  The  fact  is,  it 
suits  in  regular  gradation  each  age."  And  he  explains  the 
tides  for  his  brother's  benefit. 

September  22,  shortly  before  returning  home,  he  writes: — 

My  dear  Father, — Your  kind  solicitude  for  me  I  know  not 
how  to  return  except  by  a  corresponding  love.  Words  are  idle 
and  I  feel  it,  but  rest  assured  I  feel  your  kindness  most  deeply 
and  God  grant  me  to  repay  it  with  interest.  After  much  anxiety 
about  the  health  of  those  I  love  at  home  and  who  engross  so  much 
of  my  waking  and  sleeping  thoughts,  owing  to  the  length  of  time 
between  your  last  letters,  I  received  yours  of  the  13th.  Forgive 
the  impatience  of  my  last  to  you.  Oh  that  I  could  rest  easy  as 
to  the  future!  Will  my  faith  never  be  stronger?  .  .  .  My  own 
Father,  I  have  been  very  cold  and  dead  to  my  God,  but  he  has 
within  a  few  days  kindly  shown  me  my  wandering,  and  I  hope 
will  lead  me  again  to  the  fold.  Oh  for  help  from  His  arm  alone, 
and  then  whatever  the  result  be,  all  will  be  well.  "Commit  thy 
ways  to  the  Lord  and  he  will  direct  thy  steps."  How  often  have 
I  thought  of  and  tried  to  act  on  that  promise ! 

My  father's  letters  at  this  time  show  deep  religious  feel- 
ing. 


1838  YOUTH  19 

Another  half-year  of  college  life  ensued,  at  the  end  of 
which  his  health  was  in  such  a  broken  condition  that  my 
grandfather  felt  greatly  concerned  as  to  his  future.  One 
day  the  father  and  son  were  walking  together  in  the  Phila- 
delphia streets,  when  they  met  Dr.  Dallas  Bache,  who  was 
a  friend  of  my  grandfather.  He  inquired  after  Peter's 
health,  seeing,  no  doubt,  that  he  looked  thin  and  ill;  and, 
on  my  grandfather's  telling  him  of  his  anxieties,  he  sug- 
gested that  Peter  should  take  a  season  of  outdoor  work  on 
the  new  geological  survey,  which  was  under  the  direction  of 
Henry  D.  Rogers. 

The  upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  shortly  after — ^the 
appointment  of  assistant  on  the  survey  having  been  obtained 
— ^my  father  repaired  to  Pottsville,  and  entered  on  a  career 
which  was  to  mean  much  more  to  him  than  either  he  or  his 
father  then  suspected. 


CHAPTER   III 

First  Experience  in  Geological  Work,    i  839-1 841 

My  father  in  1876  published  in  Volume  A  of  the  Reports 
of  the  Second  Geological  Survey  of  Pennsylvania  a  very 
complete  and  interesting  historical  account  of  all  previous 
geological  explorations  in  Pennsylvania  and  other  States. 

In  this  report  he  states  hov^,  after  four  years  of  unsuccess- 
ful endeavors  by  the  Geological  Society  of  Pennsylvania 
(organized  in  1832),  the  legislature  in  the  spring  of  1836 
passed  a  bill  creating  a  survey  of  Pennsylvania,  and  intrusted 
its  direction  to  Professor  Henry  Darwyn  Rogers,  v\^ho  had 
already  in  1835  had  charge  of  the  survey  of  New  Jersey. 

"The  act  of  Legislature  appointing  a  survey  of  the  State 
was  dated  the  29th  of  March,  1836,  and  authorized  an 
annual  appropriation  of  expenditure  of  $6,400  for  five 
years,  to  pay  the  salaries  of  a  geologist,  two  assistants,  and 
a  chemist." 

"Professor  Henry  D.  Rogers  was  appointed  geologist, 
Mr.  James  C.  Booth  and  Mr.  John  F.  Frazer  assistants, 
and  Dr.  Robert  E.  Rogers  chemist." 

The  second  year  of  the  survey,  1837,  the  appropriation 
was  enlarged  to  allow  of  four  assistants  and  four  aids,  or  sub- 
assistants.  In  the  third  year,  1838,  the  corps  was  again 
increased,  and  the  expenses  rose  to  $12,000.  There  were 
nine  assistants  appointed  to  as  many  districts. 

My  father  speaks  of  the  year  1838  as  the  training  year 
of  the  first  survey,  adding:  "At  the  end  of  it  the  first  really 
good  idea  of  the  detailed  geographical  geology  of  Pennsyl- 
vania was  grasped  by  Mr.  Rogers  and  his  assistants.  By 
the  end  of  it  three  or  four  excellent  field  hands  had  trained 
themselves  for  future  work."  In  the  following  season,  1839, 
he  speaks  of  himself  as  "added  to  the  corps"  together  with 
Andrew  A.  Henderson. 


i839  FIRST  GEOLOGICAL  WORK  21 

The  period  of  my  father's  work  on  the  first  survey  lasted 
from  April,  1839,  to  October,  1841.  He  spent  the  summers 
of  those  three  years  in  the  field.  How  the  winters  were  spent 
I  do  not  know,  there  being  no  letters  while  he  was  at  home 
to  draw  from.  Possibly  he  used  that  time  for  working  up 
his  field  notes,  and  for  the  geological  draughting  of  maps 
and  sections.     Undoubtedly,  he  spent  much  time  in  study. 

While  in  the  field,  he  wrote  home  almost  daily,  and  there 
is  much  of  interest  in  his  letters,  but  not  in  proper  form  for 
publication.  These  are  full  of  descriptions  of  scenery, 
details  of  his  daily  life  both  indoors  and  on  the  road,  much 
about  his  companions  on  the  survey,  of  the  books  he  found 
time  to  read  even  in  these  busy  days,  and  the  expression  of 
religious  feeling,  and  of  his  hopes  for  the  future,  and  of 
his  anxious  and  loving  thought  for  the  family,  especially 
for  the  younger  brothers  at  home.  To  his  father  he  often 
gives  geological  descriptions  of  the  country  he  is  working  in. 
To  his  brothers  he  tells  of  certain  mechanical  improvements 
or  inventions,  and  improved  methods  of  farming.  He 
writes  sometimes  to  the  old  grandmother  Allen  and  to  his 
very  dear  aunts  lovely  descriptions  of  hill  and  vale,  and  of 
the  flowers  he  loves. 

One  of  my  father's  biographers  has  said  that  he  did  not 
love  society.  Only  in  the  narrowest  sense  was  this  ever 
true  of  him.  He  was  never  a  "society  man,"  so  called, 
and  never  could  have  become  so,  had  he  wished.  But  he 
was  eminently  social,  and  by  birth  and  education  a  thorough 
democrat  in  his  feeling  for  and  with  all  sorts  and  conditions 
of  men.  All  through  these  early  letters  are  the  kindliest 
descriptions  of  the  people  he  met  in  the  villages  and  farm- 
houses, on  the  road,  and  on  his  journeys.  His  interest  was 
genuine  and  spontaneous,  and  he  recognized  no  distinctions 
of  social  rank,  meeting  each  on  the  ground  of  a  common 
manhood. 

This  early  contact  with  the  common  hand  laborers  of 
the  world  was  unconsciously  a  rich  education  for  his  mind 
and  heart.  It  gave  him  a  catholic  interest  in  mankind,  con- 
firmed his  faith  in  the  human  heart,  and  justified  his  optimistic 
hopes  for  the  future.     Once  late  in  life,  when  we  had  been 


22  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  m 

listening  together  to  a  theoretical  sermon  by  one  of  our  most 
intellectual  Unitarian  ministers,  he  exclaimed  with  deep 
feeling,  "If  that  man  had  but  lived  one  year  among  the 
miners  of  Pennsylvania,  he  would  know  more  of  the  heart 
of  man  than  to  preach  such  a  sermon." 

That  he  did  not  wholly  enjoy  all  the  phases  of  this  early 
geological  life  is  evident.  He  hated  the  dark  temperamen- 
tally, and  did  not  enjoy  the  underground  burrowings  neces- 
sary to  his  temporarily  accepted  profession.  He  hated  also 
the  dirt  and  the  foul  air  of  the  mines,  and  his  imagination 
no  doubt  added  terrors  to  the  dangers  and  discomforts  actu- 
ally around  him.  But  he  had  acquired  already  that  moral 
courage  which  enabled  him  throughout  life  to  do  without 
flinching  the  thing  necessary  to  his  work.  He  told  me  once 
that  when  he  was  alone  in  the  woods  at  night,  he  suffered 
untold  horrors  from  the  vaguely  seen  shapes  around  him, 
and  that  often  he  forced  himself  to  walk  quietly  across  a 
clearing  to  place  his  hand  upon  some  stump  or  stone,  in 
order  to  dispel  the  terror  which  its  half-seen  form  had  caused 
him. 

During  these  earlier  days  he  was  also  comforted  in  all 
troubles  by  a  sense  of  the  personal  protection  of  God;  but 
in  later  years  the  theory  of  "special  Providence"  was  not 
only  impossible  to  him,  but  was  even  an  unpleasant  thought. 
These  early  letters,  however,  often  express  religious  faith 
in  a  special  care  and  protection,  and  express  also  a  special 
gratitude.  That  sense  of  gratitude  remained  with  him 
throughout  life,  but  it  was  a  refined  and  enlarged  gratitude 
impossible  to  the  narrower  orthodoxy  in  which  his  earlier 
religious  training  consisted. 

To  this  period  belong  a  few  of  the  strongest  friendships 
of  his  life.  Chief  among  these  was  that  with  Andrew  A. 
Henderson,  who  afterwards  became  a  surgeon  in  the  United 
States  Navy.  Henderson  was  like  my  father  in  spirit, — a 
thoughtful,  sensitive,  warm-hearted,  shy  enthusiast,  as 
gentle  and  pure  as  a  woman,  but  with  great  strength  of  mind 
and  a  touch  of  genius.  My  father  loved  him  like  a  brother, 
and  I  think  the  affection  was  fully  returned. 

Another  vivid  but  less  lasting  friendship  was  with  Whelp- 


1839  FIRST  GEOLOGICAL  WORK  23 

ley,  an  erratic  genius,  older  than  himself,  brilliant  in  mind, 
but  not  akin  in  spirit. 

A  third  was  James  T.  Hodge,  for  whom  my  father  felt 
warm  esteem  and  hearty  affection,  and  whose  friendship 
he  kept  until  Hodge's  sad  death  by  drowning  in  an  accident 
on  one  of  the  Great  Lakes  many  years  later. 

John  Fraser  was  another  whom  he  greatly  prized  and 
with  whom  in  later  life  he  was  more  constantly  in  company 
than  with  any  of  the  others. 

One  of  my  father's  letters  of  1839,  when  he  was  nearly 
twenty  years  of  age,  gives  his  weight  as  one  hundred  and 
thirty;  and,  as  he  had  probably  reached  his  full  height  of 
six  feet  and  half  an  inch  over,  he  must  at  this  time  have  been 
a  tall,  thin  stripling. 

At  the  end  of  his  first  season's  work  he  was  taken  very 
ill  with  a  combination  of  troubles,  ending  in  inflammation 
of  the  lungs.  He  was  nursed  back  to  health  by  his  sister; 
and  the  few  letters  of  that  date  tell  of  his  slow  convalescence, 
of  his  anxiety  lest  the  state  of  his  health  should  make  it 
imprudent  for  him  to  pursue  his  studies  for  the  ministry,  and 
of  his  gratitude  for  the  great  kindness  of  his  friends  at  the 
Mt.  Carbon  House,  Pottsville,  during  his  illness.  The 
winter  of  1839-40  was  spent  in  regaining  his  strength,  and 
in  the  spring  he  was  again  in  the  field. 

In  the  earlier  part  of  this  second  season  he  seems  to  have 
been  alone,  but  later  was  evidently  with  companions,  as  he 
writes  of  camp  life  and  of  "the  party." 

The  first  letter  of  this  series  is  to  his  father,  full  of  inter- 
est in  the  new  life  and  of  geological  facts.  "Thus  you  see, 
dearest  Father,  I  have  really  commenced  my  work,  and  I 
believe  will  find  little  difficulty  in  doing  what  is  required  of 
me  to  the  satisfaction  of  Rogers." 

Thus  begins  that  career  which,  with  a  few  years  of  inter- 
ruption, was  to  last  throughout  his  life.  Little  did  he  or 
his  father  suspect  that  such  was  to  be  the  case.  Peter  was 
destined  for  the  ministry, — for  the  Presbyterian  ministry. 
This  excursion  into  science,  they  thought,  was  but  a  short 
turning  aside  from  his  life-work  in  the  interest  of  health. 
But  in  this  earliest  letter  is  the  hint  of  what  was  eventually 


24  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  hi 

to  be  his  most  absorbing  interest,  "structural  geology";  and 
in  this  alone  did  I  ever  hear  him  claim  pre-eminent  knowl- 
edge. Other  things — many  other  things  in  science  and 
art  and  literature — were  of  deep  interest  to  him,  and  his 
friends  thought  him  wise  in  them;  but  he  modestly  rejected 
any  such  claim  of  knowledge.  Only  in  structural  geology 
did  he  consider  himself  an  expert. 

April  26,  1839.    To  HIS  Grandmother. 

I  wish  you  all  joy  and  peace  and  health  till  I  am  mercifully 
brought  to  see  you  again.  I  love  to  think  about  you.  .  .  .  My 
life,  short  as  it  has  been,  is  a  tissue  of  mercies  and  the  meshes 
often  so  small  and  delicate  that  the  eye  cannot  distinguish.  All 
my  days  are  mercies  and  should  be  all  thanks.  ...  I  have  just 
returned  from  a  coal  mine;  the  first  I  ever  was  in.  ...  I  felt  a 
great  deal  of  fear  at  first,  but  soon  discovered  that  there  could  be 
no  danger,  and  I  knew  that  I  would  be  protected  even  if  there 
was,  for  I  was  doing  my  duty. 

Mt.  Carbon  House  [Pottsville],  April  25,  1839.    To  his  Sister. 

This  morning,  Henderson  and  I,  tired  of  moping,  tried  the 
second  time  to  visit  the  Delaware  mines.  They  are  about  three 
miles  from  here;  so  on  the  way  thither  (and  we  didn't  go  "a 
la  locomotive  ")  there  was  so  much  to  be  seen, — (for  you  must  re- 
member, H.  is  a  natural  philosopher,  tho'  by  no  means  a  pretty 
one,  I  mean  his  face,  for  his  thoughts  and  mind  are  beauty  itself) 
so  many  toads'  spawn  to  magnify,  and  nev/ts'  backs  to  examine, 
and  wonder  at  their  golden  specks,  and  spiders  "walking  the 
water,  like  things  of  life";  so  many  flowers  to  cull,  and  birds 
to  listen  to,  that  I  forgot  I  was  a  dirty  geologist  about  to  seek 
the  lower  regions,  Ulysses-like,  in  some  one  of  the  muddy  Averni, 
of  this  Carbonic  and  almost  Sardonic  region,  in  my  enthusiasm 
after  Daphnes  and  water  bugs.  We  found  a  lovely  little  violet, 
and  its  fragrance  made  me  long  to  place  it  in  your  bosom;  the 
dry  strawberry  was  also  in  bloom,  and  its  yellow  little  flowers 
were  strangely  contrasted  with  the  mud  and  coal.  The  red-eyed 
vireo  sweetly  sang  from  the  ugly  woods.  You  can  scarcely 
imagine  how  beauty  and  deformity,  art  and  nature,  sweetness 
and  filth,  sterility  and  mud,  are  strangely  mixed  in  this  singular 
place.  And  you  would  be  still  more  surprised  if  you  could  feel 
my  feelings,  and  know  that  it  is  truly  my  home.     I  feel  it  such 


i839  FIRST  GEOLOGICAL  WORK  25 

and  am  uncommonly  spirited  and  happy  in  it.  And  yet, — poor 
mortals  ne'er  have  done  repining — I  want  you  and  my  flute, 
but  I  guess  both  had  better  stay  at  home.  .  .  .  You  know  my 
maxims,  "what  ought  to  be,  will  be"  and  "what's  done,  can't  be 
helped."  That  God,  who  has  made  us  a  happy  family,  asks 
only  our  trust  to  keep  us  so.  United  or  separated,  it  makes 
small  difference,  if  He  be  with  each  one.  But  I  hear  them;  I 
go  now  for  a  walk,  and  maybe  a  ride  on  the  coal  cars  like  this 
morning.    Will  you  come  ?    You'll  only  get  black,  that's  all. 

Philadelphia,  May  10,  1839.    Letter  from 
Peter  Lesley,  Sr.,  to  his  Son  Peter. 

.  .  .  How  is  it  with  your  own  mind.  Let  nothing  interfere 
with  that  intercourse  which  it  is  your  right  to  maintain  with 
your  Covenant  God  and  Saviour.  I  have  written  "right."  I 
should  have  said  privilege — you  understand  my  meaning.  In 
the  family,  our  prayer  is,  that  your  faith  fail  not.  ... 

Your  letters  are  read  with  great  interest.  You  know  that 
you  have  the  love  of  all — write  frequently  though  it  may  be  but 
a  few  lines  at  a  time — as  a  matter  of  course,  we  must  be  very 
soHcitous  about  your  health.     God  bless  you. 

Yours  truly,  my  dear  Boy  Peter. 

My  grandfather  was  a  sincerely  religious  man,  in  the 
personal  and  spiritual  sense  of  the  term;  and  he  was  also 
a  "pillar"  of  his  church  in  all  practical  ways.  His  cares 
and  responsibilities  must  have  been  many,  and  as  in  most 
church  organizations  there  were  times  of  friction  and  even 
dissension  among  the  governing  members  of  the  congre- 
gation. Peter  Lesley  was  a  just  and  kindly  man,  a  great 
worker,  and  without  personal  ambition;  but  he  was  ardent, 
and  not  without  temper,  or,  at  any  rate,  he  could  feel  right- 
eous indignation  on  occasion,  and  act  upon  it.  I  find  these 
words  in  one  of  his  letters  to  a  brother  elder,  demanding  an 
explanation  of  some  sort  after  some  church  meeting  at  which 
he  had  not  been  present,  and  where  he  had  either  been  spoken 
ill  of,  or  where  his  actions  had  been  commented  upon  un- 
favorably : — 

As  I  have  long  since  found  that  Christian  Courtesy  abounds 
more  among  the  children  of  the  World  than  among  the  professed 


26  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  m 

followers  of  Christ,  I  ask  not  therefore  the  explanation  from  you 
as  a  brother  in  the  family  of  our  common  Lord — but  as  a  matter 
which  one  gentleman  has  a  right  to  demand  of  Another. 

This  is  amusing  as  coming  from  one  sober  elder  to  an- 
other, but  I  fancy  may  find  sympathetic  hearing  from  many 
an  overworked  church  trustee  or  deacon  in  these  later  days. 

PoTTSViLLE,  May  15,  1839.    To  his  Stepmother. 

I  got  a  lecture  on  Geology  from  W.  who  complains  bitterly 
that  the  landscape  is  ruined  to  him  because  he  looks  down  on  a 
valley  and  can't  help  saying,  there's  No.  7 — that  next  hill  is  No. 
6,  etc.  In  fact  Geology  destroys  all  poetry  and  one  cannot  be 
an  Arcadian,  as  long  as  he  knows  what  formation  he's  standing 
upon  and  what  one  he's  looking  at. 

This  reminds  one  of  Darwin's  statement  that  he  had 
lost  the  satisfaction  of  reading  poetry  from  too  great  devo- 
tion to  scientific  pursuits;  and  my  father  in  later  life  used  to 
regret  that  the  constant  drawing  of  sections,  maps,  etc., 
had  destroyed  his  artistic  power  to  sketch  scenery  and 
architecture,  at  which  in  youth  he  had  been  very  apt. 

June  4,  1839.    To  HIS  Father. 

Whelpley  leaves  me  in  a  day  or  two — ^good  and  bad! — 
good,  because  he  has  been  obtaining  by  his  wonderful  powers  of 
thought  and  mass  of  information  too  great  an  influence  over  me, 
which  might,  if  longer  continued,  be  in  future  wrongly  directed. 
Yet  it  is  hard  to  part  with  him,  with  whom  my  evenings  and 
part  of  my  days  have  been  most  delightfully  spent,  passing  in 
review  literature,  arts,  and  ethics.  He  leaves  me  to  undertake 
a  tour  of  the  North  of  Maine,  and  its  magnificent  Alpine  scenery 
will  be  a  feast  I  should  like  to  partake  of  with  him. 

In  a  letter  to  his  grandmother,  June  10,  he  sends  messages 
to  his  aunt  Hall.  She  had  taken  the  position  of  matron  of 
the  women's  ward  of  the  Eastern  Penitentiary,  a  post  which 
she  held  with  honor  for  many  years  until  age  and  feeble- 
ness obliged  her  to  resign  its  heavy  cares.  Peter  objects 
to  the  "solitary  confinement"  theory  of  the  institution: — 


1839  FIRST  GEOLOGICAL  WORK  27 

A  prison  cell  is  surely  not  the  scene  for  holy  conversion. 
True,  the  spirit  of  the  Almighty  can  work  anywhere,  and  does 
work  in  many  uncouth  places,  but  it  is,  to  me,  idle  to  think  of 
putting  a  man  into  such  a  place,  and  to  madden  or  sullen  his 
mind  with  solitude,  to  make  him  return  into  the  bosom  of  So- 
ciety a  good  (tho'  branded)  member. 

His  love  of  flowers  must  have  been  great,  as  he  seldom 
writes  to  his  sister  or  aunts  without  speaking  of  his  "findings" 
of  lovely  blossoms  in  the  fields  and  woods,  often  enclosing 
a  blossom  or  a  spray  in  his  letters  to  them.  Perhaps  his 
intercourse  with  young  Henderson  may  have  quickened 
his  interest  in  these  things,  for  Henderson  was  a  botanist 
enrage  and  a  poet,  too,  at  heart. 

There  seems  at  this  time  to  have  been  some  uncertainty 
in  Mr.  Rogers's  mind  as  to  whether  my  father's  health  would 
be  sufficient  to  carry  on  the  work  necessary  to  be  done  in  the 
Pottsville  district.  But  my  father  convinced  him  that  he 
was  physically  adequate ;  and  in  a  letter  to  his  father  of  June 
13  he  says: — 

He  [Rogers]  left  my  room  apparently  satisfied  with  the  con- 
fidence which  I  expressed  and  now  feel  of  my  ability  to  carry  on 
the  whole  of  the  very  intricate  business  required  here  at  my  hands. 
I  have  received  as  it  were  new  vigor  of  body  and  mind  from  the 
fact  that  from  this  day  forward  I  have  the  field  clear  to  myself,  and 
can  use  my  own  judgment  in  all  cases  after  receiving  the  gen- 
eral plans  of  operation  from  him.  It  will  be  at  my  option  to 
leave  the  mines  unvisited  through  summer  and  devote  some  time 
to  them  between  November  and  Christmas  when  the  cold  weather 
will  make  it  a  comfortable  and  safe  work. 

June  18,  1839.    To  his  Sister. 

I  have  just  laid  by ''  The  Life  of  Wilberforce  "  and  feel  humbled 
and  mortified  at  the  way  my  life  is  spent  when  I  think  of  the 
good  he  has  done  in  his  time  and  the  love  to  God  and  man  he 
ever  exhibited.  Great  without  vanity,  an  orator  that  perhaps 
Earth  never  found  his  better,  meek,  modest,  bold  in  and  for 
the  right,  earnest  and  sincere  in  his  friendship,  a  man,  a  Chris- 
tian, he  stood  among  the  men  of  his  times  a  strange  and  beauti- 
ful   sight.     Love    flowed    from  his    lips,    mirth    brightened   his 


28  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  ni 

face,  and  with  eyes  ever  directed  to  "  the  gate  at  the  head  of  the 
way"  he  walked  among  his  fellows,  with  a  smile,  a  prayer,  a  gift 
for  every  one. 

Oh  that  I  could  be  like  him !  .  .  . 

He  is  distressed  with  the  condition  and  low  moral  stand- 
ards of  the  miners,  and  especially  by  their  constant  drink- 
ing of  strong  liquors.  He  takes  much  satisfaction  in  direct- 
ing his  own  course  of  work,  and  feels  that  he  works  better 
since  matters  are  so  left  to  him. 

A  little  later  in  the  summer  Elizabeth  went  to  the  Mt. 
Carbon  House  to  make  her  brother  a  visit,  and  in  her  letters 
home  .gives  a  pleasant  impression  of  the  place,  the  society 
in  the  little  hotel,  and  Peter's  friendly  relations  with  it.  She 
speaks  of  the  pleasant  assembling  of  the  household  in  the 
parlors  in  the  evening,  when  conversation,  games,  and 
music  filled  the  hours  before  retiring.  Peter  seems  to  have 
shown  himself  clever  in  answering  in  verse  some  difficult 
riddles,  which  gave  his  sister  much  pride  and  satisfaction. 

I  copy  but  one  of  his  letters  to  Professor  Rogers,  to 
whom  he  wrote  frequently;  but  it  seems  worth  while  to  give 
this  one  almost  entire,  as  an  evidence  of  his  growing  pro- 
ficiency in  geology.  (These,  and  many  of  his  other  letters 
were  illustrated  by  sketches  and  maps.) 

August  24,  1839. 

Dear  Sir, — I  am  disappointed  in  my  plan  for  obtaining  a 
knowledge  of  the  coal  north  of  Pingrove.  One  of  the  party  has 
returned  with  dysentery  and  another — Fisher — on  whose  knowl- 
edge of  the  place  I  depended,  is  extremely  ill  with  inflammatory 
rheumatism.  Having,  therefore,  no  prospect  of  useful  inquiry 
there  for  the  present,  and  having  completed  a  section  across  the 
valley  on  the  line  of  S.  Haven,  from  data  obtained  by  repeatedly 
crossing  from  Mountain  to  Mountain  in  several  places,  I  will  be 
at  Port  Clinton,  if  nothing  occurs  to  prevent,  on  Monday.  .  .  . 

Do  these  views  clash  with  your  own?  If  so,  I  will  be  glad 
to  receive  instructions  directed  to  Port  Clinton.  I  was  delighted 
to-day  by  discovering,  most  accidentally,  what  I  feared  would 
not  be  visible — I  mean,  the  Axis  north  of  Schuylkill  Ridge  run- 
ning through  S.  Haven.  I  have  been  led  to  believe  the  existence 
of  such,  from  your  conversation  and  from  the  position  of  rock 


i839  FIRST   GEOLOGICAL   WORK  29 

North  and  South.  I  think  there  can  be  no  error — it  is  in  a  right 
place, — has  every  appearance  of  a  great  axis — is  the  summit  of 
a  hill  with  ore  on  each  side.  The  moment  I  saw  it  I  was  con- 
vinced that  I  had  found  what  I  have  looked  so  anxiously  after. 
I  may  yet  be  totally  mistaken.  .  .  . 

I  am  becoming  very  familiar  with  the  valley  so  as  to  know 
from  near  objects  where  I  am  in  any  part  of  it  and  whither  I 
must  go  to  find  my  particular  object  of  search.  The  other  sec- 
tions will  therefore  be  much  more  rapidly  made  than  this  most 
difficult  and  centre  one. 

I  feel  the  want  of  drawing  paper  very  sensibly  and  will  be 
much  pleased  to  receive  it,  as  you  said  in  your  last. 

A  reason  for  the  existence  of  the  singular  coves  in  the  hill 
S.  of  S.  Haven  struck  me  forcibly  the  other  day — the  rush  of 
water  through  the  South  Gap  against  the  Hill  and  not  with 
sufficient  violence  to  disrupt  it  entirely — its  recurve  produced  an 
eddy  and  the  effect  followed,  to  which  you  remember  drawing 
my  attention  in  the  winter — a  hill  of  conical  form  and  "wash" 
character  at  the  mouth  of  the  cove.  .  .  . 

The  same  is  observable  at  the  bend  in  the  river  in  Summer 
hill  where  the  tunnel  is  made.  I  have  remarked  another  effect 
of  the  rush  of  water — a  bending  aside  of  the  strike  of  the  rocks 
towards  the  mouth  of  the  stream. 

Yours,  dear  sir,  respectfully. 

Septe^nber  17.    To  his  Brother  Allen. 

I  was  thinking  as  I  walked  home  this  afternoon  about  your 
speaking  this  year  original  addresses.  If  you  will  allow  me  a 
word  of  advice,  I  would  say,  First  choose  a  theme,  which  at  first 
you  might  be  inclined  to  think  too  contracted  (such  as  "the  love 
of  Peace,"  etc.,  etc.).  You  can  easily  stretch  out  a  subject,  but 
not  so  easily  contract  one.  The  leanest  must  be  fat  enough  for 
an  eight-minute  speech.  Second,  Think  of  your  theme  (after 
choosing  one  early)  in  order  to  an  analysis.  Then,  read  a  good 
deal  of  some  of  the  British  orators,  without  writing,  and  so  you 
will  catch  their  tone  and  style  without  being  able  to  avoid  it,  and 
easy  imitation  (tho'  not  a  slavish  one)  will  follow  of  course.  Let 
three  weeks  or  more  be  so  spent,  then  write  and  re- write.  Third, 
Aim  not  at  a  continued  flow  of  beauty — eloquence  or  flower,  but 
by  choosing  a  humble  plain  style,  the  bright  spots  will  shine  ten- 
fold and  lighten  the  whole  piece.  An  all  rich  piece  of  compo- 
sition is  often  spoiled  in  the  eyes  of  an  audience  by  one  or  two 
"falls." 


30 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  in 


Sept.  27.    To  HIS  Sister. 

And  now  maybe  you  would  like  to  know  how  your  dear 
brother  spends  his  time — I  mean  the  "littles,"  the  minuiice. 
Well,  I'll  try  to  tell  you.  Five  is  my  hour  of  rising  generally,  and 
after  reading  a  chapter  in  the  German,  and  trying  to  thank  Him 
to  whom  all  and  constant  thank  is  due,  and  to  pray  grace  and  pro- 
tection for  the  day,  I  can  mostly  find  time  between  the  two  break- 
fast bells  to  write  home  some  part  of  a  letter  at  least,  or  in  my 
journal  the  incidents  of  the  past  day.  At  the  table  I  meet  intelli- 
gence and  vivacity  enough  to  expedite  digestion  and  make  the 
meal  hours  the  pleasantest  of  the  day,  perhaps.  Would  you 
like  a  table  sketch?  The  pug-nosed  good-humored  but  sar- 
castic-eyed  man    sitting   at  my  left   hand  is  a  Mr.  ,   and 

his  ever -talking  and  very  conversable  little  rib  sits  next  him. 
Opposite  her  is  his  brother,  a  doctor,  who  hasn't  enough  science 
to  cure  the  everlasting  cold  his  own  nose  has  caught, — but  that's 
no  argument  against  his  practice  on  others'  noses.  Sometimes 
Whelpley,  sometimes  John  White's  son,  takes  a  seat  opposite  to 
me, — the  one  acute,  bitter  in  irony,  a  little  vain,  handsome,  strait, 
with  a  wide  sphere  of  information,  tho'  too  logical  and  meta- 
physical always  to  hit  the  truth;  the  other  lantern- jaw'd,  tall 
and  slim,  travelled  in  Italy,  France,  Germany,  England  and 
Scotland,  and  of  course  having  much  to  say,  yet  never  obtruding 
or  mocking  the  travelled  ape,  but  by  prejudice  or  education,  not 
I  think  by  a  narrow  mind,  shovdng  often  narrow  views  of  gen- 
eral questions.  That  straight-haired,  high-shouldered,  bent  fig- 
ure beside  him  is  our  acute,  deep-thinking  but  hypochondriac 
natural  philosopher  Henderson,  about  twenty-three.  Next  to 
this  melancholy  character  sits  John  White's  brother,  that  man 
with  a  hole  in  his  forehead  just  over  individuality,  a  little  hard 
of  hearing,  and  thinking  always  of  coal,  but  speaking  seldom 
of  anything.  Then  comes  a  huge  high-headed,  dull-eyed  Capt. 
Mrs.  Ralston  sits  at  the  head  to  carve  and  say  "yes"  or  "no." 
About  as  communicative  is  a  young  man  in  a  jacket  at  my  right, 
and  the  one  or  two  between  him  and  the  hostess  are  in  "terra 
incog."  for  all  my  attention  is  dravra  the  other  way,  and  there 
is  surely  no  counteracting  attraction  thitherward.  But  what, 
dear  Sis,  have  I  been  doing?  I  ought  surely  to  have  deferred 
this  till  more  time  had  brought  more  opportunities  of  knowing 
my  fellow-bipeds.  I  hope  I  have  injured  no  one;  certainly  not 
wilfully.  Carlyle's  French  Revolution,  or  Covi^per,  or  a  chapter 
of  the  Rambler,  or  a  laugh  over  one  of  the  adventures  of  the 
Knight  of  the  Rueful  Countenance,  helps  digestion  for  an  hour, 


i84o  FIRST  GEOLOGICAL   WORK  31 

and  then — to  horse.  I  then  feel  something  bigger.  Life  is  in 
every  nerve  and  all  my  muscles  are  in  play,  and  my  thoughts  fly 
fast  as  we  scamper  over  the  hills.  I  am  becoming  so  accustomed 
to  the  saddle  that  it  gives  me  all  the  pleasure  without  the  pain, 
and  will  make  me  as  straight-backed  as  an  Indian. 

Stroudsburg,  May  30.    To  his  Aunt  Anna  Wilson. 

I  have  met  many  (old  men)  who  could  talk  of  the  Revolu- 
tion as  a  familiar  event;  when  I  meet  them,  I  always  get  them 
to  tell  me  some  anecdote  or  other  of  Washington.  What  satis- 
faction it  gives  a  man  to  say,  "I  remember  sitting  on  his  knee 
and  singing  to  him  Amo,  Amas,  I  loved  a  lass,"  or  "I  remem- 
ber one  day  going  to  the  city  with  his  old  carter,  we  met  the 
General"  (they  always  call  him  so),  "and  he  rode  along  a 
mile  with  us  talking,"  and  no  wonder  it  pleases  them,  since  it 
pleases  us  only  to  hear  about  it,  when,  if  any  other  man  was  the 
subject,  we  would  tire  of  their  tedious  commonplaces.  But  what 
American  says  "stop"  when  Washington  is   talked   of?    Not  I. 

May  II.    To  his  Aunt  Hall. 

There  are  two  vast  seas  of  mercy,  pardon  and  adoption.  The 
one  cancels  all  debts,  removes  all  fears, — but  gives  no  joys  (except 
that  of  absence  of  pain) — the  other  piles  bliss  upon  bliss,  and 
still,  as  joy  is  added  to  joy,  gives  the  soul  strength  to  sustain 
the  load  of  blessedness.  Oh  may  we  all  bear  the  burden  to- 
gether! Burden?  'Tis  the  burden  that  a  bird  bears — his 
wings — it  bears  him  up  itself  instead  of  sinking  him  down. 
Yet  if  the  life  is  not  in  the  wing,  it  is  an  encumbrance,  instead 
of  a  help — so  must  God  be  in  the  joy  or  it  turns  to  bitterness.  .  .  . 

Peter. 

As  he  approaches  the  end  of  the  third  season's  work, 
his  mind  is  much  occupied  with  the  future  theological  studies. 
He  doubts  the  expediency  of  devoting  three  years  to  mere 
theoretical  study,  and  wishes  that  he  might  spend  at  least 
part  of  that  time  in  practical  work  among  the  poor;  and 
suggests  that  such  a  course  of  "religious  action"  would  be 
of  great  use  to  him. 

PoTTSViLLE,  June  18.    To  HIS  Father. 

There  is  a  plan,  dear  Father,  that  I  have  thought  of,  (in- 
deed it  was  suggested   to  me  by  Mr.  Tappan  of  Stroudsburg) 


32 


LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  m 


which  I  would  like  to  know  if  it  be  practicable  or  not.     I  am 
informed,  and  experience  in  part  makes  me  credit  it,  that  in 
no  place  generally  is  active  expressive  religion  more  hardly  re- 
tained, more  rarely  exhibited,  than   in  a   Seminary   where   we 
expect  most  to  see  it.     The  cause  of  this  is  obvious.     Religion, 
in  its  love  and  faith,  can  only  be  kept  bright  by  action.     This  in 
a  great  measure  is  and  cannot  but  be  impracticable  in  such  a 
place.     Now  it  is  my  earnest  wish  (if  it  can  be  done  without  part- 
ing with  other  greater  advantages  to  be  had  by  a  seminary  course) 
to  have  the  advantages  of  practical  as  well  as  theoretical  lessons  in 
religion.     That  is,  that  I  may  be  taught  not  only  to  talk  in  the 
pulpit,   but  to  speak  and  act  everywhere.    When  I  conversed 
with  Dr.  Warrington  before  leaving  home  this  spring  and  ob- 
tained information  from  him  to  enable  me  to  study  anatomy  and 
physiology  next  winter,  as  a  valuable  assistance  to  theology,  he 
told  me  I  could  also  have  opportunities,  if  I  would  embrace  them, 
of  taking  a  course  (if  I  can  use  the  expression)  of  religious  action, 
by  becoming  connected  with  a  physician  or  a  dispensary  or 
other,  and  have  opportunity  thus  of  attaining  at  the  same  time 
a  knowledge  of  medicine  and  of  the  modes  of  thought,  phases 
of  character,  modes  of  influencing  mind,  etc.     Mr.  Tappan  has 
described  his  labors   (ministerial  entirely)   among  the  destitute 
in  the  city;  laborious  in  the  extreme  and  sometimes  leading  him 
into  uncouth  and  revolting  scenes,  but  productive  of  great  good 
both  to  the  miserable  and  vicious  and  himself.     Now  if  I  could 
obtain  instruction  in  theology  from  some  clergyman  in  the  city, 
a  comprehensive  knowledge  of  the  principles  of  mind  and  body 
as  taught  by  anatomy  and  physiology,  and  which  I  could  obtain 
in  one  year;    and  have  also  an  opportunity  for  exerting  myself 
at  the  same  time,  how  far  preferable  it  would  be  to  shutting  my- 
self in  a  small  town  and  devoting  my  whole  time  to  the  theory, — 
to  come  out  at  the  end  of  three  years  an  eloquent  orator  with  a 
deal  of  brilliance,  but  with  a  flame  burning  low  and  flickering  of 
zeal  and  love.     I  do  not  wish  either  to  avoid  a  seminary  course. 
I  might  go  to  Princeton  and  pass  through  the  two  upper  classes. 
There  are  advantages  which  can  only  be  obtained  at  a  college 
and  these  I  am  unwilling  to  lose,  but  the  other  plan  may  do  to 
start  on  while  the  seminary  may  complete. 

With  regard  to  the  frame  of  mind  I  am  now  most  familiar 
with,  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear  me  say,  "it  is  that  of  sweetest 
peace."  [Here  follows  a  religious  statement  too  intimate  for  pub- 
lication,] 


1840  FIRST  GEOLOGICAL  WORK  33 

Haemsbueg,  July  i.    To  his  Sister. 

Yesterday  noon  I  fell  in  with  an  old  Prussian  who  called 
Napoleon  a  Coward,  served  under  and  against  him  eight  years, 
had  two  balls  and  a  lance  wound;  was  at  Moscow;  a  prisoner 
at  K.;  three  3^ears  among  the  ferocious  Spaniards  and  finished 
his  campaigns  on  the  ground  at  Waterloo.  "Buhler,"  said 
he,  "and  we  came  up  between  three  and  four  o'clock."  I  would 
have  enjoyed  the  old  man's  talk  more,  but  I  could  scarcely 
understand  him;  for  instance,  he  said,  "Napoliu  tucht  de  Knickum 
de  Westfal  awah  fur  Hereome."  This  was  a  well-pronounced 
sentence  to  most  of  them.  There  is  a  sort  of  realizing  feeling 
in  meeting  with  an  actor,  a  real  actor  in  the  stirring  scenes  of 
history.  And  always,  to  me,  a  question  seems  to  arise,- — can 
this  man  really  have  swum  the  Borodino  or  retreated  under  the 
tricolor  of  Liitzen?  Is  it  possible  he  has  gazed  on  the  mischief 
workers  of  Europe  until  he  can  call  the  greatest  of  them  a  coward 
for  first  walking  up  and  down  the  ranks  to  be  vive-1'empereured, 
and  then  perch  himself  a  mile  off  out  of  danger  like  a  crow  at  a 
tiger  fight? 

Now  although  I  looked  at  him  with  so  much  surprise  and 
curiosity  he  didn't  seem  to  think  there  was  much  strange  in  his 
being  one  of  some  millions  in  the  wars  of  French  ambition,  most 
of  them  destroyed,  he  one  of  the  few  who  have  lived,  and  of  the 
still  fewer  who  find  listeners  among  the  sons  of  the  land  of  the 
free  and  the  home  of  the  brave.  The  reason  is,  he  was  then  and 
there  a  machine  in  the  fingers  of  others  with  higher  intellects  than 
his,  and  now  he  is  a  saddler  in  a  Dutch  township,  one  of  the 
brainless  canaille  of  a  degraded  nationality.  Yet  whose  soul  is 
worth  more  or  can  be  made  larger  than  his?  From  an  ex- 
panded state  of  existence  how  will  this  man  and  such  as  he  look 
back  with  amazement  on  the  narrow  circle  of  their  present  ideas 
and  the  feebleness  of  their  present  powers.  Will  we;  will  the 
noblest  intellect  of  earth  find  the  change  less? 

July  17.    To  HIS  Father. 

Start  this  morning  for  Ebensberg.  Fell  most  unexpectedly 
and  undesirably  into  a  Loco  Foco  celebration  supper  for  the 
passage  of  the  Sub  Treas'y  bill.  There  was  but  another  Whig 
at  a  table  of  a  hundred.  I  cleared  out  to  bed  as  soon  as  I 
satisfied  my  hunger.  They  were  a  precious  set  of  rowdies. 
I  heard  about  as  much  swearing  in  the  time  of  their  assem- 
bling as  I  have  in  my  whole  trip   from   Philadelphia.     Met  to 


34  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  hi 

celebrate  the  dagger  thrust   into   the   heart  of  their  country's 
liberty!    God  forgive  us  for  a  poor  deluded  people. 

Camp  Somerset  Falls,  August  29.    To  his  Stepmother. 

We  have  just  had  visitors.  When  called  to  breakfast,  we 
heard  voices  in  the  wood  in  the  direction  of  the  cleared  field, 
and  presently  a  party  of  cherry-cheeked  lassies  came  round 
the  spring  and  seated  themselves  on  the  tree  that  forms  the 
back-log  to  one  of  our  fires,  to  watch  our  modus  operandi,  to 
see  how  much  milk  went  to  a  cup,  how  we  cut  the  pork  fat, 
etc.  One  was  an  old  crony  of  ours,  a  jolly  Dutch  wife  about 
23,  who  sends  us  cream  instead  of  milk,  and  washes  our  clothes 
nicely.  So  after  breakfast  she  told  us  the  girls  had  something 
to  say  to  us;  on  examination,  what  could  it  be  but  the  flute; 
they  had  heard  its  notes  the  other  evening,  and  sent  word  the 
next  day  that  I  must  come  down  and  play  for  them  while  they 
danced.  As  I  was  ungallant  enough  to  decline  the  honor  and 
they  were  determined  to  impose  it,  they  came  to  me  and  I  had 
perforce  to  play  for  them. 

Aug.  ^i.    To  HIS  Aunt  Hall. 

I  have  met  some  charming  places  dear  Aunt,  where  a  very 
little  cottage  in  a  very  little  garden,  with  a  very  little  orchard 
behind  it,  would  be  just  the  thing  for  you.  A  little  spring,  a 
little  house  over  it  and  two  or  three  little  cows  to  cream  it,  a 
little  barn,  a  little  stable  with  a  little  horse  to  live  in  it,  a  little 
coop  with  some  little  banties  and  a  little  shed  with  some  little 
hives  and  a  great  deal  of  honey  in  them,  some  little  pigs  with  a 
great  big  mother  and  a  wee  dog  to  bark  at  them.  What  more, 
Aunt?  Wouldn't  it  be  delightful,  especially  if  we  all  had  a  big 
house  a  little  way  off,  and  a  little  church  on  a  little  hill  with  a 
very  little  steeple  to  it  could  accommodate  you  with  a  seat  under 
the  sound  of  a  good  minister. 

One  is  reminded  of  Herrick's  little  Pipkin. 

The  field  season  of  the  survey  must  soon  after  this  have 
ended,  and  he  writes  to  his  sister  from  Harrisburg,  Feb- 
ruary 20,  1 841,  as  follows: — 

Rogers  goes  down  I  fear  to-morrow  morning  and  I  remain  to 
read  proof  for  the  press.  A  week  or  more  will  see  him  here  again 
and  me  at  work  once  more  upon  the  report,  writing  the  last  chap- 


1841  FIRST  GEOLOGICAL   WORK  35 

ter.  I  hope  it  will  not  be  a  long  job.  I  wish  [Father]  could 
lay  his  hand  on  a  thick  pamphlet  by  Carlyle,  called  "Chartism." 
He  will  find  the  English  rather  unpleasant,  but  the  thoughts 
original  and  the  conclusions  correct  and  interesting  to  us  who 
think  of  nations  as  composed  of  the  lower  as  well  as  the  upper  and 
middle  classes  of  society.  He  shows  clearly  the  impossibility  that 
Chartism  should  not  exist  and  the  need  and  end  of  it;  that  it  is 
the  stepping-stone  to  rights. 

Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  Rogers  had  a  letter  sent  by  a  man  to 
him  as  the  State  Geneologist?  That  was  rather  better  than  the 
bill  I  got  from  a  blacksmith  for  mending  my  wagon,  and  made 
out  to  the  debit  of  the  Theological  Survey  of  Pa.  Heigh-ho,  we 
are  all  pretty  much  alike,  every  one  flounders  when  the  water  is 
a  little  too  deep  for  him, —  the  baby  in  two-feet  water,  the  giant 
in  ten.  I  would  make  just  as  much  a  fool  of  myself  to  talk  about 
astronomy,  as  the  German  or  the  English  Metaphysician  does 
when  he  dives  into  the  sink  hole  of  absolutes  and  relatives.  True 
wisdom  after  all  is  to  know  and  believe  we  live,  must  die,  and 
may  by  the  goodness  of  God  through  the  tender  mercy  of  Christ 
reach  the  enjoyment  of  an  eternal  expansion  of  all  our  faculties 
and  passions  in  a  close  imitation  of  the  harmonious  attributes 
of  our  Heavenly  Father.  As  a  widely  beautiful  valley  may  be 
portrayed  on  a  square  foot  of  canvas,  condensing  its  beauties 
but  reflecting  its  truth;  so  will  the  image  of  the  Good  and  Wise 
God  be  painted  on  the  tiny  stretch  of  our  souls  in  faithfulness 
and  beauty. 

LuTHERSBURG,  July  24.    To  HIS  Father. 

Prof.  Rogers  has  been  very  complaisant  and  kind  throughout 
our  correspondence.  Every  letter  is  filled  with  expressions  of  re- 
gard and  satisfaction,  while  he  leaves  all  arrangements,  plans  and 
executions  in  a  great  measure  to  me;  thus  I  am  neither  ham- 
pered nor  pushed  nor  blamed;  and  I  have  another  cause  for  sat- 
isfaction,— the  people  everywhere  treat  me  well,  even  kindly.  I 
sometimes  feel  more  grateful  than  I  can  express,  that  my  lot  has 
been  made  so  pleasant.  .  .  . 

A  woman  yesterday,  on  my  stopping  for  a  glass  of  water,  see- 
ing the  heat  I  was  in,  did  everything  in  her  power  to  make  me 
comfortable,  and  after  a  long  chat  bade  me  good-bye,  begging 
me  to  take  care  of  myself  and  not  fall  sick  in  these  woods.  I 
could  readily  account  for  her  good  feeling.  The  poor  woman  had 
left  her  circle  of  friends  in  Portland,  Maine,  and  accompanied 
her  husband  to  a  mill-seat  on  the  South  Branch  of  the  Sandy. 


36  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  m 

They  were  very  comfortable,  well  off  for  all  things,  but  longed 
to  resume  old  habits  of  intercourse  with  their  fellows,  and  enjoy 
again  the  many  pleasures  and  advantages  of  lije  in  a  large  town. 
This  woman  was  not  alone  in  her  feelings.  I  have  met  a  number 
such  who  are  struggling  more  with  their  own  habits  and  recollec- 
tions than  they  ever  are  called  to  with  all  the  inconveniences  of 
the  forest  life.  One  can  easily  get  used  to  living  on  poor  bread 
and  salt  meat,  but  never  to  living  without  friends  and  books, 
and  the  minor  luxuries  of  the  mind.  I  say  never,  because  I 
refer  to  those  who  have  left  such  in  middle  or  advanced  life. 

I  will  soon  be  at  home  and  my  studies  soon  commence.  I 
look  forward  with  eagerness  to  the  time.  May  my  strength  be 
equal  to  my  day,  and  I  be  honored  as  an  instrument  of  good. 
I  do  not  deserve  it. 

Hazelton  and  Wilkesbarre  State  Road,  September  3. 
To  HIS  Stepmother. 

[After  a  description  of  a  long  tramp  in  a  wild  wooded  country 
he  says:]  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I  met  a  bear  just  as  I  was  get- 
ting onto  the  railroad,  but  he  didn't  give  me  a  chance  to  ask 
where  he  lived, — for  it  was  but  a  grunt  and  a  run,  and  the  next 
minute  he  was  incog,  among  the  bushes. 

In  a  letter  to  his  sister  written  from  Pottsville  October 
7  he  mentions  "Lyell."  This  was  Lyell's  first  visit  to 
America,  and  whether  my  father  met  him  at  this  time  I  do 
not  know.  Later  in  life  they  became  well  acquainted. 
He  writes: — 

Dear  Sister, — I  have  been  very  sorely  disappointed,  for, 
while  away  beyond  Pinegrove  yesterday,  Rogers  and  Lyell  came 
hither  and  left  again  without  so  much  as  leaving  a  letter  in  the 
P.O.  saying  whither  their  course  was  directed.  I  accidentally 
heard  that  from  Mauch  Chunk  they  were  going  to  Beaver  Meadow, 
and  though  I  rode  nine  miles  this  morning  while  the  moon  was 
shining,  I  would  have  set  off  at  once  and  headed  them  there; 
but  neither  the  letter  from  Philadelphia  nor  Harrisburg  con- 
taining money  has  arrived,  and  so  I  have  to  wait  till  to-night's 
mail  comes  in.  This  will  be  too  late,  as  they  are  scampering  like 
the  wind  from  place  to  place.     Lyell  is  a  perfect  hurricane.  .  .  . 

I  wish  not  to  be  delayed  in  Philadelphia  any  longer  than  is 
absolutely  necessary,  as  I  am  already  nearly  two  months  behind 


1841  FIRST  GEOLOGICAL   WORK  37 

the  class.     I  would  be  in  a  pretty  fix  if  the  Faculty  should  refuse 
me  admission. 

Evidently,  no  such  unfortunate  event  occurred,  for  by 
October  19,  1841,  he  writes  to  his  father  from  Princeton 
as  follows  in  regard  to  the  welfare  and  occupations  of  his 
brothers  Henry  and  Allen : — 

Coming  up,  I  thought  much  of  your  connection  with  that 
farm.  If  I  can  aid  you  in  any  way,  I  cheerfully  will.  The  only 
plan  I  could  suggest  (and  it  is  a  mere  suggestion)  is,  that  you 
should  put  Henry  with  me,  and  Allen  there.  Henry  would  not 
suffer  much  in  his  studies,  for  I  could  direct  him  in  them  through 
the  winter.  I  would  be  able  to  study  some,  and  complete  what 
I  have  to  do  for  [Rogers]  through  the  winter.  How  such  a  plan 
would  work,  I  leave  you  to  decide.  I  am  willing  to  do  anything 
that  will  relieve  you  and  benefit  the  whole.  I  can  be  very  com- 
fortable here,  I  find,  this  winter,  but  do  not  let  that  affect  any 
disposal  you  may  make  of  my  time  and  strength  in  this  matter. 

His  father  in  reply  to  this  letter  writes : — 

This  [referring  to  pecuniary  matters]  will  afford  me  present 
relief  so  that  there  need  be  no  interference  with  your  studies  at 
Princeton  as  you  proposed.  It  would  grieve  me  much  to  be  the 
cause  of  hindering  your  qualifying  yourself  in  the  shortest  period 
for  the  high  employment  you  contemplate. 

About  this  time  or  soon  afterwards  Peter  Lesley,  the 
father,  bought  a  farm  in  Delaware,  and  several  of  the  younger 
sons  went  there  to  study  farming,  and  eventually  took  charge 
of  this  land. 

I  have  quoted  more  from  these  early  letters  than  their 
literary  quality  deserves,  mostly  to  show  the  surroundings 
of  my  father's  life  and  how  he  regarded  them.  A  few  of 
the  letters  I  have  given  almost  entire,  because  they  seemed 
to  me  very  typical  of  his  traits  of  character  throughout  life. 

His  greatest  happiness  at  all  times  was  in  the  love  of 
those  nearest  to  him,  and  in  the  simple  joys  of  home  life. 
His  mind  was  open  to  a  great  variety  of  interests;  and  these 
letters  of  his  boyhood  show  this,  as  did  his  later  ones.    His 


38  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  m 

love  of  nature  and  art,  his  interest  in  science  now  just  opening 
to  him,  abstract  and  philosophical  discussions  as  to  man 
and  life,  and  his  religious  aspirations  and  beliefs,  all  held 
sway  over  him  in  these  early  days.  His  outlook  widened, 
and  his  beliefs  changed  as  one  experience  followed  another. 
But  the  warm  affections  of  his  heart  remained  the  same  to 
the  last  day  of  his  long  life.  He  was  singularly  devoid  of 
personal  ambition,  and  was  a  hearty  lover  and  admirer  of 
his  fellow- workers. 

At  this  time  he  was  scarcely  more  than  a  boy,  just  out 
of  the  university  and  home  life,  and  looked  at  life  and  men 
as  one  so  young  would;  but,  while  amused  at  the  simplicity 
and  ignorance  of  most  of  the  people  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact,  he  was  never  supercilious  in  his  intercourse,  and 
had  a  growing  sympathy  with  their  hardships  and  trials,  joys 
and  sorrows,  as  his  own  mind  and  heart  became  more  mature. 
I  think  it  may  have  been  his  intimate  personal  knowledge 
of  these  poor  and  ignorant  German  settlers  in  Pennsylvania 
during  this  summer  of  1840  and  that  following,  which  turned 
his  thoughts  towards  them  in  missionary  wise,  when  his 
theological  courses  at  Princeton  and  in  Germany  were 
finished.  The  ignorance  and  superstition  of  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Germans  whom  he  met  from  time  to  time  seems  to 
have  affected  him  strongly  with  a  desire  to  help  them. 


CHAPTER  IV 
Princeton,    i  841-1844 

With  the  autumn  of  1841  begins  my  father's  three  years 
in  the  divinity  school.  It  was  the  training  for  the  ministry 
to  which  he  had  from  boyhood  looked  forward,  and  from 
which  ill-health  had  withheld  him  for  several  years.  He 
entered  upon  it  with  the  intensity  of  interest  with  which 
always  he  attacked  any  work  which  was  before  him.  I 
have  comparatively  few  letters  of  this  period  to  draw  from, 
and  have  only  extracted  such  portions  as  seemed  most  indi- 
cative of  his  interests  and  development  during  these  years. 

Feb.  14,  1842.    To  HIS  Father. 

I  am  well  and  doing  well.  Happy  as  I  always  am  to  visit 
home  and  spend  a  few  days  with  you,  I  am  equally  happy  and 
more  contented  by  far  to  return  to  the  studies  which  must  at  such 
a  time  be  necessarily  laid  aside,  and  a  daily  routine,  monotonous 
but  good.  Nothing  agrees  with  me  so  well  as  to  have  my  time 
well  proportioned  and  its  parts  of  duty  strictly  kept;  and  I  am 
sure  I  am  now  forming  habits  of  regularity  which  will  be  of  the 
highest  importance  to  me  through  life.  So  far  from  time  hang- 
ing heavily  upon  my  hands,  I  could  welcome  days  of  double 
length  and  look  forward  to  the  near  approach  of  May  with  little 
pleasure. 

March  28.    To  his  Father. 

Moore  has  been  called  to  Carlisle.  Another  of  my  friends  here 
has  accepted  a  temporary  call  to  a  very  destitute  place,  the  church 
at  Summit  Mine.  He  will  also  missionize  through  the  Orwigs- 
burg  Valley.  I  am  delighted  to  hear  this,  for  I  know  by  expe- 
rience the  wants  of  that  Community. 

April  II.    To  HIS  Father. 

Mar  Johannan,  the  Nestorian  Bishop,  came  with  mission- 
ary Perkins  of  Ovroomiah  to  hold  a  talk  with  us  this  morning. 
The  Bishop  read  a  little  old  Syriac — talked  a  little  modern  Syriac 

39 


40  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  iv 

and  sat  before  us  like  a  maple-wood  statue  with  a  cushion  on  its 
head  and  a  cloth  cloak  around  its  body.  Many  questions  were 
asked  and  answered — some  not  a  little  silly,  e.g.  what  time  the 
sun  rose  there,  and  whether  there  was  much  level  ground  there, 
etc.,  etc.  We,  however,  obtained  a  great  deal  of  such  informa- 
tion as  neither  books  nor  sermons  could  afford  us.  .  .  .  Dr.  Miller 
has  promised  to  introduce  me  to  him  this  afternoon,  that  I  may 
obtain  some  geological  information  from  him.  .  .  . 

Sept.  7,  1842.    To  HIS  Father. 

[After  a  fine  description  of  volcanic  action  as  shown  in  trap 
dikes  of  different  kinds,  and  several  sketches  in  illustration  of  the 
same,  he  writes:]  When  Lyell  discovered  the  solution  of  this 
problem  (which  Whelpley  laid  before  him  to  try  his  skill),  he 
clapped  his  hands  over  his  eyes,  got  up,  and  wouldn't  hear  another 
word  on  the  subject,  exclaiming  "that's  it  exactly.^'  He  was  de- 
lighted, and  so  must  any  one  be  at  so  beautiful  an  exhibition  of 
the  ever -varying  combinations  of  the  laws  of  God  around  us. 
This,  dear  Father,  is  my  only  apology  for  troubling  you  with  it. 
What  renders  it  so  pleasing,  I  suppose  to  be  the  combination  of 
unity  and  diversity,  which  D'Aubigny  says  is  not  only  a  law  of 
nature,  but  of  religion.  If  we  were  to  see  a  bush  bearing  roses 
and  tulips  at  once,  I  don't  think  it  would  raise  emotions  of  delight, 
though  it  might  of  wonder.  We  love,  however,  to  see  roses  on 
one  tree,  each  different  from  the  other,  and  yet  all  alike;  each 
on  its  ovni  stalk  and  surrounded  by  its  leaves,  and  yet  not  two 
stalks  or  two  leaves  exactly  the  same,  yet  all  alike.  Unity  and 
diversity  seem  to  meet  in  everything  which  we  call  pleasant. 

September  15.    To  his  Stepmother. 

I  am  quite  at  home;  not  pressed  in  time;  and  enjoying  per- 
fect health;  my  daily  walk  is  very  pleasant.  The  study  of  the 
Greek  Testament  has  attracted  me  unusually.  Dr.  Hodge  is  like 
a  good  Refractor  through  which  one  may  admire  the  rings  of 
Saturn  and  the  spots  of  the  moon : — the  Scripture  surface  spreads 
before  his  pupils'  vision,  and  upon  it  appears,  here  a  mountain 
of  light  and  there  a  dark  valley  dimly  lit  by  reflected  light 
from  neighboring  hills,  and  sometimes  caverns  of  impenetrable 
dark,  the  mysteries  of  God.  I  never  knew  there  was  half  so 
much  in  the  Bible  before,  or  that  it  was  half  so  plain  when  under- 
stood. The  letters  of  Paul  which  I  have  always  been  disposed 
to  think   were   a  jumbled,  ill-connected  mass  of  expostulations, 


i842  PRINCETON  41 

maxims,  revelations  and  histories,  are,  under  his  instruction,  seen 
to  be  in  the  general  clearly  arranged  and  very  natural  in  their 
order.  .  .  . 

We  were  much  interested  a  few  days  ago,  at  one  of  our  meet- 
ings, with  the  account  which  Mr.  Badeau  gave  us  of  his  views 
and  feelings  on  going  to  Africa.  He  is  just  now  waiting  the  de- 
termination of  the  Board  of  Missions.  There  is  a  missionary 
there  all  alone,  Mr.  Sawyer,  Alward  and  Carpard  (?)  having 
died.  It  is  so  deadly  that  the  Board  won't  send  any  one  to  the 
Station.  Badeau  has  determined  to  go  and  prevent  the  Mission 
from  being  forsaken,  which  would  be  a  pity  now  that  the  natives 
are  so  eager  to  have  it  established  among  them.  While  he  was 
addressing  us  he  stood  in  the  place  which  Alward  and  (?)  occu- 
pied within  the  last  two  years.  The  professors  then  each  one 
said  something,  refusing  to  give  advice,  but  at  the  same  time  ex- 
hibiting how  each  one's  feelings  were  moved  on  the  matter.  It 
was  a  solemn  thing  to  see  one  of  the  students  as  it  were  offering 
himself  up  to  almost  certain  death.  For  my  part,  I  think  if  we 
were  to  look  at  the  interior  of  our  own  states  we  would  find  enough 
sacrifices  to  make,  and  fields  to  occupy.  The  pines  of  Jersey; 
the  forests  of  Pennsylvania;  the  prairies  of  the  West;  the  negro 
villages  of  the  South,  cry  unceasingly.  However,  when  the  spirit 
calls  one  and  another  to  go  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  there  is  no 
conferring  with  flesh  and  blood  to  be  done,  but  to  rise  up,  leave 
all  and  follow  the  voice. 

I  intend  to  give  you  a  sketch  of  Wallenstein,  from  Schiller, 
but  if  I  don't  put  the  letter  in  to-day  (I  have  been  already  three 
days  writing  it)  you  will  stand  a  poor  chance  of  receiving  it  this 
week.  .  .  . 

My  father's  v^ords  as  to  foreign  missions  are  illustrative 
of  his  thought  and  action  throughout  life.  He  always  had 
the  deepest  interest  in  and  admiration  for  the  work  of  other 
men  in  paths  completely  different  from  his  own;  and  es- 
pecially did  he  enjoy  reading  of  distant  explorations  and 
work  among  alien  peoples.  But  for  himself  the  work  nearest 
at  hand,  and  most  surely  his  own  to  do,  always  commanded 
his  constant  allegiance;  and  he  worked  at  it,  whatever  it 
might  be,  with  an  intensity  and  enthusiasm  which  was  at 
times  exhausting.  Often  for  hours  he  would  sit  at  his  desk, 
bent  over  his  sheet,  his  pen  flying  over  the  pages  without 
pause,  until,  his  idea  clearly  expressed  or  his  appointed  task 


42  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  rv 

completed,  he  would  suddenly  straighten  himself,  with  a 
long-drawn  sigh  of  relief  or  satisfaction,  rise,  stretch  himself 
to  his  full  height,  and  then,  with  a  laugh  or  a  pleased  excla- 
mation, take  to  pacing  the  room  with  his  hands  behind  his 
back;  and,  if  any  of  his  family  or  any  near  friend  were  by, 
he  would  begin  to  talk  with  a  delightful  jubilancy, — ^perhaps 
of  his  work  or  something  suggested  by  it,  perhaps  of  subjects 
the  most  at  variance  to  the  former  trend  of  his  thought,  but 
always  with  animation  and  delight. 

November  26.    To  his  Father. 

I  find  I  must  be  satisfied  with  my  situation  here,  and  I  be- 
lieve my  continued  good  health  is  mainly  due  to  the  walks  I  have 
to  take  daily.  I  have  plenty  to  do  of  course,  a  great  deal  of 
writing,  but  no  very  hard  study,  that  I  can  call  so  at  least.  .  .  . 
"Boz"  deserves  most  of  what  he  gets;  and  yet  we  ought  to  ac- 
knowledge that  most  of  what  he  and  others  like  him  say  and  have 
said  about  our  manners  and  customs,  is  true  and  proved  to 
be  true  by  their  otherwise  unaccountable  uniformity  of  descriptive 
testimony.  .  .  . 

Jan.  24,  1843.    To  HIS  Father. 

I  mailed  you  last  Saturday  the  first  number  of  D'Aubigny; 
the  other  four  completing  the  work,  you  shall  have  as  soon  as 
I  receive  them.  I  am  beginning  to  learn  that  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  being  in  too  much  haste  to  buy.  My  D'Aubig.  cost  me 
only  $6.75.  It  is  in  French — which  is  good  enough  for  a  biblio- 
maniac, but  bad  enough  for  a  poor  student;  but  it's  foolish  to 
cry  for  spilt  cream. 

Feb.  17,  1843.    To  HIS  Stepmother. 

If  I  were  ever  witty,  I  ought  to  be  so  now,  for  I  have  just 
finished  Pascal's  provincial  letters  with  which  you  are  too  well 
acquainted  to  need  a  description.  Are  they  not  racy  and  pure, 
- — so  gentle,  manly  and  yet  their  point  and  the  boldness  with 
which  he  develops  the  damnable  heresies  and  polluted  phi- 
losophy and  morality  of  the  Jesuits  must  have  driven  them  to 
madness.  Indeed  they  did  accuse  him  and  Arnault  and  the 
Port  Royalists  of  arrant  Calvinism  while  all  Europe  was  laugh- 
ing them  and  their  doctors,  and  their  efforts  to  hide  their 
shame,  to  scorn.  What  is  that  within  us  all  which  so  loves  to 
glory  over  detected  vileness?    Surely  it  alone  must  prove  there 


i843  PRINCETON  43 

lives  above  a  holy  God  whose  mirror,  man,  so  scratched  and 
blurred  as  it  is,  will  still  reflect  his  love  of  Truth.  In  con- 
nection with  this  I  have  read  also  the  famous  Seer  eta  Monita, 
secret  laws  of  the  Jesuits  and  have  been  shocked  beyond  ex- 
pression at  the  coolness  with  which  all  lengths  of  villany  are 
run,  all  measures  justified,  and  all  that  is  holy  and  true  scoffed 
at  and  thrust  aside.  I  am  told  that  already  within  but  thirty 
years  of  the  societies'  re-establishment  (owing  to  the  fright  Na- 
poleon gave  the  Pope)  the  societies  are  as  strong,  as  wealthy,  and 
as  active  as  they  were  at  the  moment  when  their  suppression  was 
demanded  by  the  prayers  and  tears  of  the  whole  world,  and 
obtained  at  the  expense  of  the  good  and  noble  Ganganelli's  life. 
To  one  who  knows  how  this  fearful  engine  worked  from  1540  to 
the  end  of  the  iSth  century,  its  present  activity  is  of  all  others  the 
most  alarming  sign  of  the  times.  However,  I  can't  pretend  to 
talk  about  this,  for  a  hundred  topics  only  watch  an  opening  to 
rush  in  and  claim  their  share  of  regard.  High  Churchism  among 
the  foremost.  By  the  way,  mother,  I  had  the  honor  last  night 
of  quaffing  Imperial  with  Bish.  Hobart's  daughter,  wife  of  the 
Episcopal  clergyman  here,  Mr.  Hare — and  with  Mrs.  Willet 
up  Vine  St.  So  you  see  if  Pascal  ought  to  make  me  witty,  Hobart 
should  give  me  dignity.  But  far  away  such!  My  moonlight 
walk  afterwards  was  the  thing.  My  pen  should  flow  with  tropes 
and  rhymes,  and  revel  in  oceans  of  Castalias  and  on  whole  Andes 
of  Parnassuses.  Oh,  you  can't  imagine  how  beautiful  it  was, 
and  I'm  sure  I  can't  begin  to  describe  it.  It  was  the  most  charm- 
ing scamper,  all  alone,  over  the  ice  fields,  which  anybody  without 
wings  could  ever  have  had.  The  ice  cracked  at  every  step  and 
long  cracks  would  run  clear  across  the  fields  to  the  opposite 
fences,  making  noises  like  pistol  firing.  The  air  was  delight- 
fully still  and  the  moon  had  just  risen,  and  shone  aslant  the  hill 
through  every  little  spire  of  ice,  (for  all  the  longer  grass-blades 
came  up  through  the  crust,  all  with  icy  jackcoats  on) ,  and  through 
the  icy  branches  of  the  trees,  which  glanced  the  light  most  beau- 
tifully. What  with  an  obstinate  little  fight  with  bronchitis  and 
toothache,  I  had  been  rather  down  in  the  mouth  for  a  day  or  two, 
but  I  made  up  for  it  last  night.  The  way  I  scampered  like  a 
hunted — or  hunting  ghost  down  the  slopes  and  round  the  de- 
serted tan-house  and  through  the  orchard  and  by  the  quarry, 
was  a  caution  to  citizens  and  seminarians. 

I  nicknamed  all  my  old  friends  in  the  Zodiac  and  roimd  the 
Pole,  and  made  fun  of  my  guide,  the  tip  end  star  in  the  tail  of 
the  Great  Bear  (which  was  standing  straight  up  for  my  own 


44  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  iv 

private  amusement),  and  set  the  dogs  barking  for  three  miles 
round  till  the  distant  echo  of  the  farthest  cur  came  lingering 
over  the  fields  from  Kingston,  while  the  great  round  red  moon 
lay  her  head  on  one  side  and  laughed  to  see  a  great -coated, 
thick-booted  son  of  the  clods  so  merry  at  nothing,  as  far  as  she 
could  see.  It  was  a  regular  frolic,  mother,  I  assure  you,  and 
all  the  better  for  being  alone.  For  you  know  one  must  keep  up 
one's  dignity  in  company,  and  people  are  very  angry  with  us  if 
we  play  the  fool,  or  think  that  they  play  the  fool  any  time  but 
when  no  one  else  is  by.  But  after  all  it  won't  do  to  dissipate. 
It's  bad  policy  to  get  drunk  on  either  whiskey,  poetry  or  moon- 
light, so  I  had  a  numbing  headache  when  I  got  home,  and  as  I 
might  have  known,  missed  a  figure  in  the  morning,  and  slept  so 
late  that  there  was  but  half  an  hour  left  to  do  my  regular  two 
hours  ante  breakfast  studying  in.  But  here  am  I  at  the  end  of 
my  sheet  and  have  told  you  nothing  after  all. 

March  2.    To  his  Aunts. 

There  is  no  use  in  my  sitting  and  hooking  up  ideas  out  of 
the  ink-pot  any  longer,  for  I  have  vanity  enough  to  suppose  that 
anything  I  say  will  come  not  amiss.  There's  the  precious  fruits 
of  your  partiality  and  praises  in  bygone  times.  Ah,  it's  a  sad 
thing  to  let  one  know  you  love  him!  Never  do  it!  Never;  for 
he's  sure  to  put  on  airs.  But  I  have  another  reason  for  setting 
my  pen  agoing  at  once, — when  one  begins,  the  worst  of  any 
work  is  over  as  to  difficulty,  and  words  when  once  let  loose, 
especially  to  those  we  love,  rush,  like  the  letting  out  of  water 
widening  the  breach,  and  with  ever-increasing  tumult  and  force. 
I  do  wonder  where  all  our  thoughts  lie  packed  away;  or  whether 
they  are  all  "made  to  order."  If  they  are,  the  manufactory  is 
of  the  completest  kind  that  ever  was.  However,  that  is  no  won- 
der when  we  remember  who  put  it  up.  We  are  indeed  fearfully 
and  wonderfully  made,  and  a  part  of  a  universe  fearfully  and 
wonderfully  made.  But  I  want  to  talk  just  now  a  little  about  our 
ewe  lamb  that  we  can't  keep  in  the  pasture.  What  do  you  think 
of  her  leaving  us?*  But  what  a  rate  my  pen  is  running  this 
morning !  it  must  be  because  it  took  such  a  good  start.  I  had  my 
fire  going  at  half-past  four.     There^s  industry!  there's  soberness! 

*  Elizabeth  Lesley  was  married  soon  after  this  to  Mr.  Elias  Stilwell, 
and  went  into  the  Mohawk  Valley  to  uve  for  a  number  of  years,  returning 
later  to  Philadelphia  with  her  husband  and  four  children,  where  she  lived 
for  the  remainder  of  her  long  life. 


i843  PRINCETON  45 

there's  energy  for  you!  and  now  I  have  three  long  recitations 
before  me  to-day,  and  my  brain  by  supper  time  will  be  in  a  state 
of  conglomerated  aberration  quite  pitiable  and  alarming.  It 
always  is  on  Friday. 

March  13.    To  his  Father. 

I  thank  you  for  your  letter,  and  the  pens  enclosed, — they 
will  answer  for  some  time, — and  still  more  for  your  prayers: 
none  ever  needed  them  more.  As  my  services  will  always 
be  of  little  account,  so  their  springs  within  have  oftentimes  but 
Httle  strength: — and  yet  "I  can  do  all  things  through  Christ 
who  strengtheneth  me."  To  be  a  Zwingh  or  a  Luther  I  hope 
you  never  expect  me,  for  you  will  surely  be  disappointed.* 
To  be  an  honored  and  admired  preacher,  after  whom  people  will 
run  and  say,  "Let  us  go  to-day:  he  preaches" — you  must  not 
expect  me,  I  have  tried  pra)'erfully  to  know  my  own  powers  and 
they  are  small.  My  mind  is  naturally  of  no  great  strength,  and 
often  filled  with  many  absurd  crotchets  and  quite  unfit  to  be  the 
tenement  of  robust,  lordly  thoughts,  and  therefore  I  never  can 
hope  to  be  a  Luther,  or  Zwingli,  an  Edwards  or  a  Whitefield; 
but  thanks  be  to  God  his  meanest  creature  may  carry  wood  and 
draw  water  for  his  temple, — may  love  him  and  employ  his  little 
talents  to  their  full  extent  in  his  service, — may  say  a  word  in  his 
name  or  suffer  to  the  death  for  his  Son.  That  I  may  do  this, 
in  his  strength,  dear  Father,  still  continue  to  pray;  and  so  look  for- 
ward to  my  appearance  in  the  public  ministry  as  not  to  be  dis- 
appointed at  finding  me  come  "in  weakness  and  in  fear  and  in 
much  trembhng  with  my  speech  and  my  preaching,  not  with  the 
enticing  words  of  man's  wisdom."  God  grant  it  may  be  yet  "in 
the  demonstration  of  the  spirit  and  of  power."  It  gives  me  un- 
bounded satisfaction,  dear  Father,  that  I  have  your  love  and  ap- 
probation in  the  life  I  now  lead  and  that  which  is  before  me. 
Had  you  opposed  my  wish  to  study  and  preach,  it  would  have 
been  an  endless  fountain  of  bitter  waters  to  me.  But  it  is  only 
one  of  the  innumerable  kindnesses  for  which  I  am  debtor  to  the 
love  of  God; — one  of  the  Chief  nevertheless.  .  .  . 

Have  you  seen  the  comet?  Of  course  you  have.  Isn't  it  a 
great  thing?  How  quietly,  solemn  and  majestic  it  hangs  like  a 
drawn  sword  in  the  hand  of  Uriel,  the  Angel  of  the  Sun.     It 

*  His  father  had  written  in  a  letter  of  March  7  these  words:  "To 
be  a  Zwingli  or  a  Luther  is  in  my  opinion  to  be  more  highly  honored  than 
if  you  were  to  be  possessed  of  all  the  honors  which  man  could  possibly  heap 
on  you." 


46  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  iv 

makes  one  feel  something  of  the  reality  of  the  Universe,  We  are 
apt  to  think  the  Solar  System,  etc.,  as  pretty  stories — true — oh,  of 
course  true — ^but  very  surprising  nevertheless  when  anything  new 
proves  them  true.  Some  have  taken  it  for  the  Zodiacal  light, 
but  they  forget  that  that  points  along  the  Zodiac;  this,  if  you  will 
observe,  lies  with  its  head  (which  by  the  by  nobody  that  I  can 
hear  of  has  yet  got  a  gHmpse  of)  in  the  Zodiac  and  pointing  20° 
South,  right  at  Sirius.  Beautiful!  A  great  finger  by  which  one 
great  sun  points  at  another  great  sun,  its  nearest  neighbor.  On 
Saturday  we  had  a  fair  view  of  it.  Prof.  S.  Alexander  says  it 
will  be  in  sight  two  months.  When  the  moon  goes  down  east, 
how  brightly  it  will  blaze  in  the  Zenith !  He  thinks  it  is  a  comet 
which  recurs  every  106  years.  .  .  . 

In  the  summer  of  1843  ^^7  father  visited  his  sister,  newly 
married,  in  Fort  Plain,  N.Y.  His  impression  of  New  York 
at  that  period  I  copy  from  a  letter  of  August  24  to  his  father: 

At  New  York  I  spent  Saturday  and  Sunday  nights,  and  saw 
everything.  I  will  never  again,  until  the  remembrance  of  what 
I  saw  has  faded,  run  a  tilt  for  Phil'a.  One  may  as  well  at- 
tempt to  compare  London  with  Liverpool,  or  the  Blue  Mountain 
with  Barren  Hill,  as  New  York  with  Phil'a.  The  magnifi- 
cence of  its  buildings,  public  and  private — the  throng  of  its 
streets — the  beauty  of  the  fountains — the  multitude  of  its  ships 
— give  it  as  just  a  claim  as  any  city  ever  had  to  the  name  Metrop- 
olis. Its  churches  are  superb.  The  Trinity  still  unfinished  in 
its  tower  (which  is  to  be  275  feet  high  with  a  stone  spire  100  feet 
more)  satisfied  me  that  I  at  last  had  an  accurate  idea  of  the  smaller 
Cathedrals  of  Europe.  Its  elaborate  ornament  cannot  be  de- 
scribed in  any  way  but  by  painting.  The  effect  upon  my  mind 
was  one  of  wonder  and  a  sense  of  beauty — but  not  of  sublimity. 

The  college  with  us  [Girard  College]  is  as  far  superior  to  any 
building  I  have  yet  seen  in  New  York  as  one  building  can  be  to 
another;  but  all  our  others  wane  in  the  light  of  them.  Wall 
Street  is  a  fair  levee  of  Architectures.  The  facade  of  the  Ex- 
change is  superb,  and  the  Custom  House  has  the  face  of  our 
U.S.  Bank,  with  a  nobler  flank — yet  it  wants  somehow  the  quiet 
repose  of  our  house,  due  perhaps  to  its  size  and  proximity  to 
the  cm-b.  But  how  shall  I  express  my  delight  and  wonder  at 
the  exquisite  grace  of  the  florid  gothic  University  Chapel — or 
young  Bedell's  new  gothic  church   above  Washington   Square, 


i843  PRINCETON  47 

or  that  gem,  excelling  everything  else — the  French  Romish 
Church  in  Canal  Street,  with  its  nave  running  into  a  noble  dome, 
frescoed  and  painted  gloriously!  I  was  in  raptures  with  it.  I 
never  was  in  a  house  which  gave  me  such  feelings  of  entire  sat- 
isfaction. A  priest  in  white  was  teaching  fifty  boys  the  French 
Catechism  while  listeners  were  scattered  here  and  there  in  the 
pews. 

This  is  but  the  prelude  to  a  lifelong  delight  in  travel, 
and  especially  of  joy  in  architectural  beauty.  Peter  Lesley, 
the  father,  had  trained  his  boys  from  childhood  to  notice 
and  understand  architectural  forms;  and  my  father  fully 
proved  the  value  of  such  instruction.  As  long  as  he  lived, 
his  eyes  were  keen  to  see  beauty  of  form  and  color  wherever 
it  could  be  found.  The  lintel  of  a  door,  the  gable  end  of 
some  building,  the  curve  of  a  bridge  arch,  the  capital  of  a 
pillar, — everything  worthy  of  notice  delighted  him.  And 
he  much  preferred  to  admire  than  to  criticise,  or  to  compare 
unfavorably,  although  he  could  do  both  when  truth  de- 
manded it  of  him.  A  very  favorite  quotation  with  him  was 
Dogberry's  "comparisons  are  odorous." 

In  a  letter  written  November  8  from  Princeton  to  his 
father  is  an  intimation  that  his  thoughts  have  turned  toward 
a  trip  to  Europe. 

McKinley  writes  me  that  Rogers  goes  to  Boston  in  a  few  days, 
and  at  his  return  will  go  up  to  Harrisburg  to  give  bonds  and 
draw  the  funds — probably  about  New  Year.  I  feel  thankful 
that  Providence  has  thus  provided  me  means  for  the  future, 
especially  as  it  gives  me  for  the  first  time  solid  expectations  of 
travelling  in  Europe;  and  not  less  because  it  will  free  me  from 
distressing  anticipations  of  being  burdensome  to  my  dear  Father. 

The  survey  payments  to  assistants,  coming  from  State 
funds,  were  always  uncertain  as  to  time;  and  many  were 
the  periods  of  anxiety,  and  many  the  practical  straits  to  which 
the  youthful  surveyors  and  geologists  were  put  while  waiting 
for  their  hard-earned  wage.  My  father  seems  to  have  partly, 
perhaps  chiefly,  paid  for  his  theological  course  out  of  his 
three  summers  of  work  on  the  State  Survey,  and  the  trip 


48  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  iv 

to  Europe  was  also  accomplished  by  the  same  means.  My 
grandfather  seemed  always  ready  to  help  with  money  when- 
ever he  suspected  the  least  need  for  it;  but  he  had  a  large 
family  of  younger  children,  and  it  was  but  natural  that 
Peter,  the  oldest  son,  should  dislike  to  be  a  burden  to  his 
already  overworked,  and  most  generous  of  fathers. 

In  this  same  letter  he  speaks  of  "communing"  with  the 
different  sects  in  Princeton, — Episcopalian,  Methodist,  Con- 
gregational, and  Dutch  Reform, — adding,  "And  would  like 
to  complete  the  circle  of  Christian  evangelical  liberty  with 
our  good  brethren  the  Baptists,  but  fear  there  is  no  hope 
of  that  unless  I  go  under  the  wave  and  put  on  the  coat  of 
thorns."  The  Puseyites  he  seriously  objects  to,  but  has 
the  highest  admiration  for  Dr.  Hare,  the  Episcopal  clergy- 
man. 

Princeton,  Dec.  i,  1843.    To  his  Stepmother. 

Messrs.  Baird  and  Santell  have  been  with  us  this  morning 
and  enlightened  us,  as  they  all  do,  on  the  subject  of  European 
affairs.  To  tell  you  all  Mr.  Baird  told  us  exceeds  my  powers 
both  of  memory  and  patience;  but  a  few  things  it  will  be  pleas- 
ant for  you  to  hear.  Last  evening  he  gave  us  sketches  of  the 
character  of  the  Duchess  of  Orleans  and  Count  Gasparin.  The 
former  you  know  was  queen  heir  apparent,  and  now  by  the 
death  of  her  husband  is  mother  of  the  young  heir  apparent.  She 
is  a  pious  Protestant  and  still  is  allowed  to  keep  the  management 
of  the  education  of  her  two  boys.  The  latter  is  a  young  man 
of  the  most  brilliant  talents  and  eloquence,  and  the  most  ardent 
piety.  Last  winter  he  first  took  his  seat  in  the  Chamber  of  Dep- 
uties, the  only  pious  man  among  five  hundred,  and  spoke  re- 
peatedly for  the  cause  of  Christ  and  Liberty  with  the  greatest 
boldness.  You  know  that  Napoleon's  revolution  of  1802-03 
established  Protestantism  on  equal  footing  with  Romanism  and 
Judaism.  The  Papists  never  forgave  Bonaparte,  but  were  awed 
by  his  despotism  and  popularity. 

During  the  reign  of  the  two  brother  Bourbons,  Louis  XVIII. 
and  Charles  X.,  they  obtained  most  of  their  lost  power,  and  to 
crush  the  newly  regained  power  of  the  Papists  was  the  chief  object 
of  the  Revolution  of  1830  under  Lafayette,  Lafitte,  and  other 
infidels  and  some  few  Protestants.  They  succeeded  after  a  three 
days'  battle.  Lafayette  on  his  way  to  the  Chamber  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  Choice  of  a  Constitution,  stopped  and  spent  an  hour 


i843  PRINCETON '  49 

with  our  Reeves  of  Va.  to  ask  his  advice.  Reeves  advised  him 
to  put  up  a  Constitutional  King.  Lafayette  was  for  a  Repubhc 
though  he  was  pretty  well  convinced  that  the  French  nation 
was  not  fit  for  one,  "for,"  said  he,  "if  we  set  up  a  King,  what  will 
our  friends  in  America  say?"  (He  always  considered  himself 
one-half  an'  American,  and  considered  this  country  the  first  one 
on  earth.)  Reeves  told  him  all  the  good  and  wise  knew  the 
state  of  the  case  and  would  praise  him.  Lafayette  went,  and 
though  they  were  all  ready  to  make  him  president  of  a  republic, 
perhaps  for  life,  in  one  hour's  time  Louis  Philippe  was  King  of 
France. 

No  one  has  any  idea  of  the  immense  genius,  profound  prac- 
tical knowledge  of  men  and  letters,  and  energy  of  character 
which  Louis  had  before  he  was  raised  to  a  throne.  He  was  con- 
sidered also  a  friend  to  constitutional  liberty.  But  in  two  weeks' 
time  Lafayette  had  reason  to  suspect  him  and  in  twelve  months 
left  him  altogether.  In  1835  Lafayette  said  publicly  that  had  he 
known  the  King  would  have  so  blasted  the  hopes  of  the  friends  of 
Liberty,  he  would  have  died  before  making  him  King.  The 
first  year,  1831,  he  [Louis  Philippe]  tried  to  get  Paris  fortified 
for  his  own  security,  as  he  distrusted  the  affection  of  the  Prot- 
estants, yet  they  were  the  very  ones  who  held  him  on  the  throne 
and  the  Papists  were  his  worst  enemies.  The  Archbishop  of 
Paris  wouldn't  go  near  him.  When  in  1840  France  was  all  in  a 
blaze  of  indignation  at  England's  interference  in  the  Levant,  an 
army  of  500,000  men  was  raised  and  80,000  horses  imported  and 
Louis  Philippe  cimningly  took  advantage  of  it  to  fortify  Paris 
and  Lyons,  the  two  cities  hardest  to  govern.  Fourteen  forts  are 
nearly  completed  around  the  latter  and  Paris  will  have  2000 
cannon  on  its  walls  in  two  years.  The  anger  of  the  Protestants 
and  Liberals  at  being  deceived  excited  them  to  secret  societies, 
to  attempts  on  the  King's  life,  and  a  total  rupture  with  him.  Louis 
turned  round  and  wooed  the  Papists.  A  young  talented  friend 
of  his  from  the  lower  clergy  was  (according  to  Nap's  celebrated 
concordat  with  the  Pope)  made  Archbishop  of  Paris,  and  now 
1000  or  1500  Jesuits  (who  are  forbidden  the  soil  by  law)  are  in 
France  without  disguise.  The  late  dreadful  blows  in  private 
and  public  have  had  some  effect  upon  the  King's  mind  and  much 
upon  the  Queen's,  and  been  taken  advantage  of  by  the  priests 
(who  point  to  them  as  judgments  of  heaven)  to  instigate  L.  P. 
to  decided  measures  for  Rome.  A  law  forbidding  more  than 
twenty  to  meet  without  permission  of  a  magistrate,  passed  with 
an  express  limitation  (unhappily  unengrossed)  to  political  meet- 


50  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  iv 

ings,  is  brought  to  bear  on  Protestant  missionary  labor,  and 
Guizot  doesn't  hesitate  to  say  in  the  chamber,  that  the  Government 
thinks  it  due  to  past  times  and  present  affairs,  that  France  should 
become  defender  of  the  faith  and  do  for  Papist  missionary  sta- 
tions abroad  what  England  does  for  Protestant. 

When  the  cannons  are  on  the  walls,  L.  Ph.  may  cast  by  the 
constitution,  annul  the  Protestant  estabhshment  Charter,  and 
persecute  the  Protestants,  who  look  for  the  worst.  Then  a 
revolution  returns  as  a  matter  of  course.  So  stands  the  case  now 
in  France. 

Washington  Irving  and  other  men  now  in  France  think 
that  the  result  of  the  revolution  in  Spain  will  be  a  kind  of 
confederated  republic,  as  no  monarch  can  be  got  to  suit  all 
parts  of  Spain.  Europe  presents  a  most  remarkable  spectacle. 
Twenty-five  years  of  peace  have  not  removed  the  scars  of  twenty- 
five  previous  years  of  war,  and  therefore  1,500,000  men  trained 
in  war  and  ready  for  war,  are  living  without  war,  and  without 
a  prospect  of  it  for  long  time  to  come.  To  show  how  anxiously 
their  fear  (?)  is  upheld  Mr.  B.  told  us  an  anecdote:  when  in  Paris 
three  years  ago,  a  friend  (envoy  of  some  German  State)  called 
on  him  and  said  he  had  just  been  with  the  prime  minister  (Thiers) 
whom  he  found  greatly  agitated  with  the  news  of  a  quarrel  be- 
tween England  and  Naples  about  the  sulphur  trade.  Express- 
ing his  astonishment,  Thiers  replied,  "  Don't  you  see,  if  England 
sends  a  fleet  upon  Naples,  there  will  be  an  insiurrection  all  through 
the  kingdom  at  once — which  will  spread  throughout  Italy  (for 
Italy  is  Hke  a  sleeping  volcano)  and  then  Austria  will  march  an 
army  to  precipitate  it.  Italy,  and  of  course  France,  will  march 
one  to  meet  hers,  and  all  Europe  will  be  at  once  embroiled."  .  .  . 
Much  more  Mr.  B.  told  us  which  I  would  hke  to  rehearse  to 
you,  but  cannot.  I  know  with  what  interest  Father  receives  any 
hint,  however  slight,  which  goes  to  throw  light  on  the  affairs  of 
Europe. 

When  I  go  over  next  fall,  I  hope  to  be  able  to  transmit  you 
more  extensive  though  not  half  so  correct  a  budget  as  that  which 
Mr.  B.  has  given  us. 

Later  in  this  letter  he  mentions  Trumbull,  whom  I  sup- 
pose to  have  been  the  David  Trumbull,  a  fellow-student  in 
the  seminary,  who  was  throughout  life  a  very  dear  friend,  al- 
though they  only  met  at  intervals  of  many  years.  David, 
after  leaving  the  seminary,  married  and  settled  in  Valpa- 


i844  PRINCETON  51 

raiso,  where  he  spent  the  remainder  of  a  long  life  in  mis- 
sionary labors  in  that  distant  field. 


Jan.  9,  1844.    To  HIS  Stepmother. 

I  have  just  given  threepence  for  a  gold  pen,  so  you  may  cal- 
culate the  amount  of  gold  upon  it.  I  intend  to  dedicate  it  to  you 
in  a  grave  epistle  upon  Grahamites,  CampbeUites,  and  Father's 
misdemeanors,  throwing  in  a  conundrum  for  the  boys,  for  good 
measure.  ...  I  am  as  busy  as  a  bee,  but  find  time  for  eating  and 
sleeping  as  usual,  both  which  I  execute  in  a  masterful  manner. 
Poor  fellows;  had  the  students  at  Lane  eschewed  Graham  and 
obeyed  nature,  which,  by  filling  the  North  with  game  and  the 
South  with  fruit,  prompts  and  enables  us  in  temperate  climes  to 
partake  reasonably  of  both,  we  would  not  have  had  such  sad 
news  brought  us.  I  suppose  you  have  heard  through  the  papers 
that  seven  or  eight  students  of  Lane  Seminary  have  died  of  Typhus 
Fever.  Only  one  of  those  attacked  escaped,  and  he  was  known  to 
have  occasionally  eaten  a  little  meat.  Fevers  of  typhoid  character 
are  usual  in  institutions  of  learning,  I  am  told.  Indeed  most 
of  the  deaths  are  by  them.  The  constitution  runs  down,  and 
poverty  or  a  mistaken  economy,  or  even  a  perverted  sense  of 
duty,  induces  low  living,  and  the  students  become  victims  to  the 
first  severe  fever  which  attacks  them. 

You  have  perhaps  heard  also  of  the  important  discussion  at 
Lexington,  Kent'y,  between  Mr.  Rice  and  Alex  Campbell,  the 
old  and  celebrated  father  of  the  CampbeUites.  The  discussion 
has  excited  the  greatest  interest,  and  done,  no  doubt  of  it,  much 
good.  It  lasted  sixteen  days.  Six  questions  were  alternately 
affirmed  and  denied  by  the  combatants,  who  spoke  four  hours 
each  day,  and  three  hours  on  four  nights. 

The  large  church  was  crowded  most  of  the  time  although  the 
weather  was  bad.  Campbell  was  confident  of  victory,  and 
preached  his  arguments  from  elaborately  written  papers.  The 
subjects  were  Baptism,  and  the  work  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  ...  [A 
description  of  Campbell's  teaching  and  his  defeat  in  this  argu- 
mentative battle  with  Mr.  Rice  follows.] 

But  I  must  leave  a  little  room  for  Father's  annihilation. 
It  is  in  vain  for  him  to  expect  to  do  anything  quietly.  He  was 
seen  to  take  notes  in  a  certain  church  in  yth  St. !  Doctor  Hare 
was  told  that  Mr.  Lesley  was  among  his  audience  and  took  notes. 
Horribile  dictui — Dr.  Hare  didn't  exactly  make  use  of  that  ex- 
pression, but  he  laughed,  and  said  it  was  an  imfortunate  Ser- 


52  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  iv 

mon,  but  consoled  himself  that  there  was  nothing  in  it  which 
offended  charity.  .  .  .  But  I  would  humbly  advise  that  Father 
give  Mr.  Hare  notice  forehand  next  time,  or  else  when  sermon 
begins  hold  up  his  lead-pencil.  .  .  . 

My  pen  doesn't  work  well,  but  I  must  give  the  boys  the 
conundrum.  I  won't  vouch  for  the  poetry  as  it  comes  second- 
hand and  by  memory. 

"When  to  this  world  I  first  appeared. 
My  clothing  it  was  red: 
And  what  may  seem  more  stranger  still, 
I  was  born  without  a  head. 

My  parents  were  by  nature  hard, 

For  pity  they  had  none. 
They  left  me  without  hand  to  feed. 

And  without  feet  to  run. 

In  thickness  I  am  but  a  straw, 

And  not  a  finger's  length. 
Yet  I  defy  the  stoutest  man 

To  equal  me  in  strength. 

Before  I  changed  my  robes  of  red, 

And  put  on  one  of  black, 
You  could  not  by  yourself  alone 

Have  raised  me  from  my  back. 

But  since  unto  my  slender  frame 

United  is  my  head. 
My  weight  does  not  come  up  by  far 

Unto  an  ounce  of  lead." 


Very  decent  backwoods  poetry — isn't  it,  Father,  as  you're  the 
family  judge.  Now,  boys,  do  your  "Yallerest"  as  the  hunters 
told  me  when  I  tried  their  rifles.  .  .  . 

I  am  awaiting  a  letter  from  Rogers  to  determine  me  when 
to  see  you  again.  Only  four  months  remain  of  the  Term.  Had 
anybody  told  me  ten  years  ago  when  I  commenced  study,  that 
I  should  be  only  so  far  up  the  hill — I  would  have  "squatted" 
at  its  foot  in  despair.  But  Luther  didn't  know  when  he  scolded 
Tetzel  that  the  end  would  be  to  blaspheme  the  Pope. 


i844  PRINCETON  53 

February  5.    To  his  Father. 

But  the  chief  matter  of  interest  among  us  now  is  the  revival 
of  religion  which  has  been  sent  among  us.  The  Lord  of  hearts  is 
moving  many,  and  I  hope  a  great  many.  .  .  . 

February  7.    To  his  Aunt  Anna  Wilson. 

A  revival  has  commenced  and  is  going  on  in  Princeton,  and 
I  watch  it  with  the  more  interest  because  I  never  before  was  where 
I  could  see  the  movements  of  such  a  time  both  external  and  in- 
ternal. ...  It  began  with  the  unexpected  conversion  of  a  store- 
keeper by  means  of  Dr.  Hodge's  "Way  of  Life,"  left  open  on 
the  mantel-piece  at  his  house.  ...  It  is  not  only  a  happy  time, 
but  a  solemn  one;  in  fact  it  seems  to  me  as  if  people  almost 
feared  to  talk  aloud  about  it,  and  had  a  kind  of  dread  on  them; 
as  if  some  great  thing  had  happened  or  was  about  to  happen. 
And  it  is  a  great  thing  indeed.  .  .  .  But  it  can't  be  that  our  Saviour 
only  does  good  to  his  church  by  starts ;  surely  his  eye  is  on  us  al- 
ways, and  on  you  and  me  and  all  his  children,  each  one  by  him- 
self. 

During  the  spring  he  was  in  great  uncertainty  as  to  his 
summer  plans.  Professor  Rogers  wrote  urging  him  to  again 
join  the  Geological  Survey  Corps,  and  he  seems  at  one  time 
to  have  very  nearly  decided  to  do  so.  But  evidently  his 
desire  for  foreign  travel  and  for  theological  studies  in  Ger- 
many prevailed,  and  he  writes  from  New  York  on  May 
17,  1844,  the  following  letter  to  his  father  just  before  setting 
sail  for  Europe: — 

I  write  from  George's  table  [a  cousin  George  Ball  perhaps] 
with  the  children  around.  I  received  your  two  packets  of  letters^ 
one  to  Edinburgh  and  two  to  London  and  Paris ;  for  which  I  thank 
you;  also  the  $10  enclosed.  .  .  .  Dr.  Baird  gave  me  this  afternoon 
twenty-one  letters  to  persons  in  various  directions,  among  others 
to  Monod,  D'Aubigny,  Tholuck,  and  Neander.  He  says  some 
to  Italy  shall  be  ready  for  me  to-morrow.  I  am  thankful  I  hope 
to  all  such  good  friends  for  sending  me  off  under  so  favorable 
auspices,  and  most  of  all  to  you,  dear  Father,  for  training  me  up 
in  the  way  I  should  go,  causing  me  to  make  such  friends,  and 
making  and  assuring  others  by  your  own  character.  .  .  . 

This  is  a  good  boat  with  a  clean  Captain  (so  G.  says),  and 
has  but  three  passengers  in  the  2nd  cabin,  and  thirty-three  in  all. 


54  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  iv 

1  expect  to  sail  to-morrow  noon — if  it  don't  rain.  Went  to-day 
to  see  Col.  Voorhees.  Found  his  works — the  great  Atlantic 
Docks  progressing  rapidly,  and  the  foundations  of  several  stores 

2  2  by  20  (walls  three  feet  thick)  laid.  The  piers  are  150  feet 
wide  and  the  stores  in  the  middle,  leaving  a  street  on  each  front. 
I  am  told  that  the  Great  Britain  Steamer  stands  on  the  stocks, 
because  forsooth  the  opening  of  the  docks  is  too  small  for  her 
egress!  Robinson  Crusoe  must  be  her  owner's  favorite  author, 
one  would  suppose.  Two  plans  remain — one  to  carry  her  over 
the  dock  piers — the  other  to  widen  the  opening  at  the  risk  of 
flooding  the  cellars  of  all  the  warehouses  round  the  dock.  .  .  .  New 
York  is  already  and  will  in  a  few  years  be  pre-eminently  the 
Gothic  City.  I  know  nothing  which  will  afford  you  a  richer 
treat  than  going  round  its  circle  of  fine  churches,  comparing 
them  with  each  other  and  with  the  unsightly  results  of  the  false 
architectural  taste  of  the  last  and  beginning  of  the  present  cen- 
tury, as  exhibited  in  our  public  buildings — in  England  and 
America.  But  although  the  variety,  richness  and  beauty  of  their 
Gothic  Structures  is  very  great,  none  that  I  have  yet  seen  equals 
that  which  I  met  within  Brooklyn  this  afternoon  (Dr.  Stone's). 
Its  architecture  is  perfect.  I  did  not  detect  a  flaw  in  it.  It  is 
absolutely  a  perfect  and  a  very  beautiful  specimen  of  that  style. — 
But — I  am  not  yet  a  traveller,  and  must  not  begin  the  long  yarns 
which  are  fated  to  put  your  patience  to  so  severe  a  test.  Every- 
body talks  of  the  riots — nobody  understands  them.  Here,  their 
military  organization  is  perfect.  The  Colonel  of  the  Regiment 
of  National  Guards  is  sheriff.  Their  Mayor  is  a  good-natured, 
decided,  courageous  man.  When  they  had  their  violent  meet- 
ings some  time  ago — nobody  said  nay  to  them,  but  it  always 
happened  that  the  volunteers  were  parading  on  those  days,  until 
at  their  last  meeting  one  furious  speaker  complained  publicly 
and  bitterly  that  the  gleam  of  muskets  was  always  within  view 
of  their  meetings.  The  consequence  was  there  was  no  trouble 
and  can  be  none.  At  seven  taps  of  the  city  beU  the  troops  of 
the  whole  city  are  under  arms  and  marching  to  Rendezvous. 

Sat.  morning,  Wind  E.,  received  still  another  package  from 
Prof.  Henry — passage  paid,  and  all  ready.  .  .  . 

Very  affectionately,  dear  Father, 

Yours,  Peter. 


CHAPTER  V 
First  Trip  to  Europe 

In  1844  a  trip  to  Europe  was  no  such  slight  matter  as 
it  is  in  these  days,  when  ocean  steamers  by  the  dozen  cross 
and  recross  the  water  daily.  To  a  young  man  of  my  father's 
ardent  and  imaginative  type  it  was  a  great  event;  and  his 
previous  life  had  well  fitted  him  to  enjoy  its  pleasures  and 
advantages  to  the  full.  He  returned  to  his  native  country 
at  the  end  of  a  year  with  his  mind  filled  with  beautiful  im- 
ages and  his  intellectual  views  of  life  widened  by  contact 
with  foreign  peoples  and  intercourse  with  several  of  the  finest 
philosophical  minds  of  the  time.  I  believe  that  his  inten- 
tion in  going  abroad  was  not  only  to  profit  by  foreign  travel 
in  general,  but  more  especially  to  fit  himself  by  a  thorough 
study  of  German  for  preaching  to  the  poor  and  ignorant 
"Pennsylvania  Dutch"  of  the  regions  through  which  his 
geological  work  in  the  previous  summers  had  led  him. 

To  this  end  he  had  wished  to  travel  to  Europe  in  the 
steerage  of  a  sailing  ship,  but  his  careful  father,  more  prac- 
tically wise  and  free  from  this  particular  enthusiasm,  per- 
suaded him  to  be  content  with  the  second  cabin.  The  ship 
was  laden  with  cotton  and  turpentine,  and  the  second  cabin 
was  a  space  some  fourteen  or  fifteen  feet  square,  taken  out 
from  among  the  cotton  bales  (which  thus  formed  its  side 
walls),  and  lined  with  wooden  bunks.  This  cabin  was 
reached  by  a  hatchway,  and  must  have  been  entirely  with- 
out other  light  than  that  from  above.  If  the  second  cabin 
was  like  this,  it  is  hard  to  imagine  the  steerage  accommo- 
dations. In  this  little  space  were  gathered  a  small  but 
miscellaneous  company.  My  father  used  to  tell  us  that  his 
nearest  companions  were  a  good-natured  old  Irishwoman 
in  the  bunk  below  his,  and  a  lame  boy  in  that  next  his  feet. 
This  cabin  he  found  on  trial  to  be  a  quite  sufficient  expe- 
rience of  humble  life  to  satisfy  his  democratic  convictions; 

55 


56  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  v 

and  he  returned  a  year  later  as  "first-class"  as  possible, 
but  with  unimpaired  determination  for  his  chosen  career 
in  the  service  of  the  poor  and  ignorant. 

He  brought  back  with  him  seven  closely  written  manu- 
script volumes,  giving  a  minute  and  careful  account  of  his 
daily  joumeyings  and  experiences;  and,  as  much  of  this 
travelling  was  done  on  foot  and  off  the  beaten  track,  and 
as  he  interspersed  among  his  written  accounts  delightful 
sketches  of  scenery  and  architecture  and  of  geological 
and  topographical  views,  these  volumes  form  an  unusually 
interesting  record  of  a  year's  travel  before  railroads  and 
steamboats  had  done  away  with  tranquil  and  unhurried 
sight-seeing, 

I  shall  try  to  extract  from  these  volumes  only  such  portions 
as  seem  unhackneyed,  and  also  such  as  show  his  own  par- 
ticular penchants  or  traits  of  character. 

The  first  part  of  his  foreign  stay  was  spent  in  England 
and  France,  whence  he  passed  through  Switzerland  into 
Germany.  There  in  the  autunm  he  established  himself 
for  a  few  months  at  Halle,  to  study  German  and  to  listen 
to  the  lectures  of  some  of  the  great  German  Protestant  theo- 
logians. It  is  to  be  remembered  that  at  this  period  of  his 
life  my  father  was  a  theologian  in  fact  and  in  intention,  and 
had  no  thought  but  to  follow  his  chosen  profession  through 
life.  In  his  travelhng  on  foot  through  France,  he  takes  much 
note  of  the  French  Protestant  faith,  and,  whenever  he  can 
attend  the  services  of  its  pastors,  he  does  so.  No  doubt, 
unconsciously  to  himself,  the  daily  contact  with  Catholi- 
cism was  modifying  his  Protestant  Orthodoxy,  but  many 
words  here  and  there  written  in  his  journal  bespeak  the  ardent 
Protestant  abhorring  the  things  of  Rome  and  deploring 
her  supremacy. 

Running  parallel  with  this  theological  interest  is  his 
already  keen  intelligence  concerning  scientific  (especially 
geological)  facts,  and  his  ever-present  delight  in  architecture. 
We  fmd  sketched  there  a  bit  of  moulding  or  the  capital  of 
a  pillar,  and  there  an  outcrop  or  profile  of  some  hillside; 
here  the  span  of  a  stone  bridge,  and  there  an  item  of  topog- 
raphy; and  the  next  page  may  be  half -covered  with  out- 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  57 

landish  peasant  caps  and  hats,  or  some  queer  cart  or  wagon; 
here  a  "Druid  barrow,"  and  there  a  bit  of  ruin  overhanging 
a  fertile  river  valley.  I  would  that  it  were  possible  to  repro- 
duce these  sketches  as  they  stand,  and  much  more  of  the  text 
than  will  be  now  appropriate. 

My  father  seems  to  have  sent  parts  of  this  journal  to  the 
Presbyterian,  published  in  New  York  and  Philadelphia,  for 
I  find  thirteen  articles  written  to  that  paper  pasted  into  the 
back  of  the  said  journal. 

I  have  thought  best  to  skip  the  descriptions  of  the  long 
voyage,  and  of  his  few  weeks  in  England,  and  begin  with 
the  most  noteworthy  parts  of  his  stay  on  the  Continent. 

The  month  which  he  spent  in  Paris  was  of  great  interest 
to  him.  Paris  was  at  that  time,  as  he  used  to  tell  us,  one  of 
the  quaintest  cities  in  Europe,  full  of  narrow  and  crooked 
streets  and  old  buildings.  What  he  most  enjoyed  was  to 
walk  through  parts  of  the  town  least  frequented  by  fashion 
and  the  ordinary  line  of  travellers,  where  he  could  observe 
the  native  population,  their  occupations  and  methods  of 
living.  He  loved  to  cross  the  bridges  at  morn  and  eve  with 
the  crowd  of  ouvriers  coming  to  and  returning  from  their 
work;  to  sit  on  the  quays  and  watch  the  life  on  the  river; 
to  haunt  the  second-hand  book-stalls  and  the  markets;  to 
watch  the  children  at  play  in  the  parks;  to  wander  again 
and  again  through  the  churches,  seeing  each  time  more 
beauty  in  the  whole,  and  new  loveliness  in  the  details;  to 
listen  to  lectures  in  the  various  courses  on  science  and  art, 
for  which  Paris  is  famous, — ^in  short,  to  go  everywhere  where 
the  people  congregated,  observing,  meditating,  dreaming, 
philosophizing,  and  also  sympathizing  with  the  joys  and 
sorrows  of  the  workers  everywhere.  He  had  his  youthful 
prejudices,  and  at  this  time  saw  dangers  and  wickedness  in 
things  which  in  later  life  seemed  to  him  innocent  enough, 
and  sometimes  even  admirable. 

I  think  this  month  in  Paris  gave  him  a  love  for  the  place 
which  returned  again  in  later  life  with  renewed  force,  when 
he  spent  other  months  there  with  his  daughters. 

He  also  made  use  of  this  period  to  study  French  ac- 
tively, and  by  the  time  he  started  out  on  his  travels  through 


58  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  v 

the  country  he  was  able  to  speak  and  understand  sufficiently 
well,  though  he  never  was  able  to  express  himself  in  French 
with  the  fluency  which  he  acquired  in  German. 


Foreign  Journal 

Wednesday,  July  10,  1844. — In  Paris  everybody  does  what  he 
likes.  It  is  a  place  of  the  most  perfect  sansculottian  liberty. 
The  laborer  goes  along  in  the  morning,  loaf  in  hand,  munching 
his  breakfast  to  save  his  time.  The  gentleman  fills  his  hands 
with  cherries  or  gooseberries  and  sits  on  a  post  beside  the  canal 
to  eat  them  while  he  rests.  You  enter  a  church  and  tho'  mass 
be  saying,  you  see  strangers  or  citizens  walking  about  with  per- 
fect nonchalance,  gazing  at  the  vaults  or  examining  the  pictures. 
You  go  into  the  Palais  Royal  or  the  gardens  and  see  parties 
taking  tea  in  the  midst  and  under  the  surveillance  of  a  crowd, 
without  heeding  it  a  bit.  You  enter  a  restaiuant  or  cafe,  and  it 
is  filled  with  ladies  dining  in  public  and  calling  for  what  they 
want  upon  the  garfons  in  waiting.  Young  ladies  without  bon- 
nets will  guide  you  along  a  square  if  you  are  in  search  of  a 
boarding-house  under  their  direction. 

Seeing  all  this  in  daily  operation,  one  soon  learns  to  do  like- 
wise, nor  wonders  any  more  at  the  ease  with  which  a  people 
move  and  act  and  speak  in  foreign  lands  who  live  so  completely 
in  public  when  at  home.  ... 

...  I  mentioned  Breguet's  name.  I  called  on  him  on  Tues- 
day. He  showed  me  some  beautiful  little  machines,  and  invited 
me  to  dine  with  him  on  Friday, — the  only  such  invitation  I  have 
had  from  any  one  in  Europe.  I  breakfasted  with  Professor 
Graham.  We  had  much  difficulty  in  conversing,  as  he  spoke 
worse  English  than  I  do  French,  which  is  venturing  to  say  a 
great  deal. 

The  three  machines  which  I  saw  were  these.  First  his  metal- 
lic spiral  thermometer,  which  dotted  down  every  hour  on  a  silver 
plate  the  exact  temperature  at  the  moment  (and  another  experi- 
mental one  in  which  he  has  tried  to  combine  with  this  a  thermo- 
pile to  dot  down  the  simultaneous  temperature  of  the  aerial  vapors 
— i.e.  to  get  the  dew  point).  Another  was  one  for  determining 
the  question  whether  light  was  emanation  or  an  oscillation.  .  .  .  The 
other  machine  interested  me  very  much  because  of  its  striking 
resemblance  to  one  described  by  Professor  Henry  to  the  Centen- 
nial of  the  Phil.  Soc.  at  Philadelphia  last  spring.    It  is  to  mark 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  59 

the  velocity  of  a  projectile  (sent  through  successive  screens)  at 
the  various  points  on  its  course.  [These  machines  are  described 
at  much  length,  and  with  many  sketches  and  diagrams.] 

...  It  seems  to  be  an  object  of  government  to  make  all  the 
French,  soldiers.  Hence  the  multitudes  of  public  military  evolu- 
tions. I  foimd  ten  or  fifteen  squads  of  soldiers,  embracing  from 
three  to  thirty  men  each,  going  through  a  course  of  drilling  and 
sacreing,  under  as  many  officers.  The  drill  seemed  to  be  pretty 
severe  and  the  performance  (altho'  it  called  for  tremendous 
vociferation  and  spring  freshets  of  French)  admirable.  Yet  I 
had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  some  on  a  march  yesterday.  I 
met  them  outside  the  fortifications.  They  were  in  double  file 
winding  along  the  road  running  along  the  outside  of  the  lines. 
And  they  went  very  free  and  easy  in  a  hop,  skip  and  jump  sort 
of  way,  as  different  as  could  be  from  the  stiff  formal  tread  of 
our  volunteer  troops.  I  liked  it.  It  looked  like  a  piece  of  that 
part  of  the  French  character  which  I  admire  so  much — their 
naturalness.  .  .  . 

Sabbath,  July  14,  1844. — ^The  best  I  have  spent  since  leaving 
America.  In  the  morning  I  walked  along  the  Rue  St.  Honore 
to  the  Wesleyan  Chapel.  It  was  not  open  yet  and  I  stepped 
into  the  Madeleine  where  a  splendid  service  had  collected  an  im- 
mense crowd.  Each  paid  something  to  men  at  the  railing  before 
going  into  that  part  of  the  church  where  they  were  seated.  ...  A 
splendid  female  voice  rose  and  fell  in  luxurious  modulations  amid 
the  roar  of  a  great  choir  and  a  powerful  organ. 

From  all  this  I  turned  away  and  entered  the  little  room,  in  a 
hurry,  near  by,  where  fifty  or  sixty  people  soon  collected  to  wor- 
ship God  "in  spirit  and  in  truth."  It  is  by  such  contrasts  one 
comes  to  realize  the  state  of  things  in  Papist  lands.  When  I  go 
into  a  great  church,  I  see  at  a  glance  that  all  the  wealth  of  the 
nation  is  devoted  to  the  Papal  idolatry;  when  I  wait  there  and  see 
a  never-ceasing  stream  of  comers  and  goers,  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  in  all  weather,  and  watch  them  bow 
and  cross  themselves,  even  men  in  whose  countenances  of  open 
manliness,  intelligence  shines  too  clearly  to  be  mistaken — I  wonder 
indeed  at  the  strange  perversion  of  the  intellect, — but  I  must  also 
confess  that  the  nation's  heart  is  devoted  to  the  Papal  idolatry. 
The  Lord  further  the  good  reformation  which  they  say  is  in  prog- 
ress in  France! 

I  heard  Mr.  Touse  (?)  preach  in  English.  The  service  of 
the  Wesleyans  is  that  of  the  Church  of  England,  but  I  find  here 


6o  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  v 

they  sing  a  verse  or  a  hymn  before  the  opening  exhortation 
"Dearly  beloved  brethren,"  etc.  .  .  , 

The  sermon  was  excellent,  full  of  strength  and  warm  with 
piety.  He  too,  like  the  preacher  of  the  last  Sabbath,  dwelt  much 
on  the  general  love  of  the  brethren  without  distinction  of  sect. 
Ah,  soldiers  of  different  regiments,  in  the  same  army,  do  not  care 
much  to  learn  each  other's  number  when  they  are  fighting  to- 
gether side  by  side  in  the  heart  of  the  enemy's  camp.  At  the 
close  a  collection  was  taken  up  for  the  ministry  of  the  Society 
in  France  and  among  the  Alps  (in  other  words,  as  I  guessed  the 
matter,  for  colporteurs,  etc.).  .  .  . 

...  As  I  was  too  early  and  knew  not  where  to  go,  I  kept 
on  to  the  Arc  d'Etoile  and  sat  on  one  of  its  plinths.  I  thought 
of  its  object  and  its  hero,  its  architect  and  its  admirers.  I  could 
almost  fancy  myself  in  bloody  Rome,  going  forth  like  a  she-wolf 
at  evening  and  returning  to  store  up  the  bones  of  her  gnawed 
victims  in  her  den.  How  many  half  unintelligible  thoughts  follow 
one  another  at  such  times  and  places — mostly  painful.  I  cannot 
take  enthusiastic  pleasure  in  these  "monuments.".  .  . 

.  .  .  Here  is  this  great  structure:  art  is  lavished  upon  it  to 
make  it  beautiful;  but  it  is  made  hideous  by  having  engraved 
upon  every  stone  within  and  without  the  name  of  some  hero  who 
has  killed  his  thousands,  or  some  place  where  thousands  were 
killed.  Its  numerous  statues  are  all  of  war;  its  reliefs  all  speak 
of  war;  war  made  the  man  who  raised  it  great,  and  every  stroke 
of  the  hammers  lifted  upon  its  countless  stones  was  only  the  com- 
memorating, and  recording  echo  of  sorhe  groan  from  the  countless 
victims  of  his  enormous  crimes.  Crimes  too  in  which  the  nation 
partakes,  because  to  their  glory  they  have  raised  this  arch,  and 
when  they  pass  under  it  they  read  with  exultation  and  delight 
the  recital  it  yields  of  their  magnitude  and  atrocity. 

Monday,  July  15,  1844. —  ...  It  is  bad  enough  walking  along 
the  streets  of  Paris  on  any  day,  but  when  it  rains  it  is  an  abomi- 
nable job.  The  paves  are  so  narrow  that  one  soon  learns  the  prac- 
tical meaning  of  the  old  phrase  "to  give  the  wall";  in  almost 
every  instance  it  is  to  take  the  street.  ...  In  fact  the  whole  street 
arrangement  of  every  part  of  Paris,  except  in  the  newer  parts,  to 
the  West  and  North,  is  one  for  riders  and  not  for  walkers.  It 
scarcely  consults  the  convenience  of  the  latter  class  in  the  least, 
and  leaves  them  to  protect  their  own  persons  as  they  may.  If 
they  are  hurt,  there  are  houses  with  signs  over  the  door  in  many 
quarters  of  the  city,  where  Secours  pour  les  Blesses  can  be  had, 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO   EUROPE  6l 

at  the  public  expense  I  believe.    They  are  connected  in  some  way 
with  the  guard-houses  of  the  Gendarmerie. 

The  explanation  of  this  state  of  things  is  at  hand  in  the  past 
history  of  France  and  indeed  of  all  Europe.  Those  who  rode 
were  lords  in  silken  hose ;  those  who  walked  were  slaves  in  wooden 
shoes  or  hobnail  boots.  In  a  village  we  passed  through  on  the 
road  from  Amiens,  I  saw  a  woman  climb  into  a  window  to  escape 
being  crushed  by  the  side  of  the  diligence,  and  here  in  Paris  I 
have  been  alarmed  more  than  once  at  my  peril  in  turning  corners 
where  the  narrow  trottoir  ceased  and  gave  place  to  a  large  stone 
set  upright  against  the  corner  to  keep  off  the  broad  cart-wheels 
from  coming  in  contact  with  its  brick  edge.  .  .  . 

Wednesday,  July  17,  1844. — Yesterday  morning  after  my  old 
gentleman  [his  French  teacher]  had  made  his  bow,  I  went  through 
the  rain  to  attend  the  lecture  on  Chimie  at  the  Jardin  des  Plantes. 
It  rained  steadily.  There  were  scarce  a  dozen  there,  seated 
at  the  bottom  of  the  great  amphitheatre  lecture-room.  M.  C. 
lectured. 

...  12  ocl.  approached,  we  made  for  that  noble  dernier  ressort, 
the  Musee  Royal.  When  I  went  into  its  immense  suite  of  rooms, 
hung  with  a  vista  of  splendid  pictures,  and  looked  and  walked 
for  hours,  I  conceived  that  I  knew  somewhat  of  the  greatness 
and  glories  of  the  Louvre.  Afterwards  I  met  a  friend  who  asked 
me  if  I  had  seen  the  statuary.  I  told  him  no,  and  went  again, 
and  saw  a  second  suite  of  rooms  as  vast  and  splendid  as  the 
first,  and  then  I  thought  I  had  exhausted  the  Louvre.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  No!  not  yet.  The  corner  room  was  filled  like  the  rest 
with  paintings  and  designs  of  the  masters,  and  in  its  centre  stood 
an  enormous  globe  with  massive  brass  mountings;  but  turning 
once  more  to  the  left  we  saw  yet  another  vista — more  rooms  filled 
ail  like  the  rest  with  inexhaustible — inestimable  treasures.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Such  is  Paris  to  the  stranger:  a  Louvre  inexhaustible; 
where  new  objects  are  ever  unexpectedly  arising  to  .  excite  his 
wonder  or  gratify  his  taste.  Such  is  the  Musee  Royal — a  place 
the  like  of  which  I  could  not  have  believed  the  world  con- 
tained. The  British  Museum  is  wonderful,  but  this  is  more 
wonderful.  .  . . 

July  18. — Boon  came  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  we  sallied  out, 
— visited  the  museum  of  Dupuytren,  and  that  of  the  Ecole  de 
Medecine,  both  filled  with  anatomical  preparations,  instruments 
and  imitations  of  diseased  parts  of  the  frame.    I  never  would 


62  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  v 

have  believed  that  flesh  was  heir  to  so  dreadful,  complicated  and 
numerous  ills.  .  .  . 

Nothing  is  more  striking  to  a  foreigner  in  Paris  (and  I  am 
told  it  is  still  more  so  further  east)  than  the  fact  that  the  streets 
are  filled  with  a  crowd,  whose  exact  rank  in  society  it  is  the  easiest 
matter  to  determine.  With  us  every  one  is  a  gentleman;  and  if  a 
man  or  boy  is  seen  shabbily  dressed  in  the  streets,  we  say  at  once, 
oh,  he  is  at  work.  Here  the  people  generally  are  not  only  at  work, 
but  wear  a  garb  habitually  which  determines  them  to  be  working- 
men — the  working  class.  Yet  they  do  not  seem  to  do  one-half 
as  much  as  our  citizens;  they  seem  to  be  an  amusement -loving, 
labor -hating  people;  loungers  by  nature  first  and  second.  They 
will  lie  down  in  the  open  streets  and  sleep  like  negroes  in  the  sun. 
On  the  contrary  the  women  seem  to  be  active  and  industrious 
beyond  their  sex.  The  streets  teem  with  them;  they  carry  bur- 
dens, drag  carts,  drive  donkeys,  sit  in  the  stores,  rule  in  cafes, 
and  in  short  are  everywhere  doing  everything  and  exhibiting  a 
powerful,  well-made,  large  and  good-looking  frame,  an  indomi- 
table spirit  and  a  patient  endurance  which  has  often  impressed 
me  with  the  odd  desire  to  see  them  make  an  assault  upon  and 
drive  to  their  homes  the  gray-coated  ranks  of  whipper-snappers, 
whose  muskets  and  big  swords  play  such  a  conspicuous  part  in 
the  panorama  of  every  street  and  every  garden  in  this  braggadocio 
Paris.  ... 

.  .  .  We  went  on  to  Notre  Dame,  which  Boon  had  never  en- 
tered before.  Every  time  I  open  the  doors  and  find  myself 
under  those  immense  arches,  between  those  immense  reeded  tower 
piers  an  awe  descends  upon  my  spirit  and  I  move  forward  into 
the  nave  and  look  up  and  around,  and  it  all  looks  vaster,  nobler, 
more  awful  than  the  time  before.  One  needs  to  return,  again 
and  again,  to  those  great  churches  and  become  accustomed  to 
them.  New  objects  are  detected  and  absorbed  again  within  the 
whole  at  every  visit,  and  the  idea  becomes  gradually  perfect. 

Saturday,  July  20,  1844. — [Here  we  see  the  Paris  of  the  days 
before  Baron  Haussmann.]  The  neighborhood  of  the  Ecole  de 
Medecine  is  a  very  quiet  old  neighborhood,  full  of  alleys  and 
courts  and  ^'Impasses"  from  the  sides  of  which  rise  stalks  of 
tall  houses  of  a  gray  or  drab  color,  bent  and  curved  and  angular, 
standing  in  all  relations  to  the  streets  and  to  each  other,  and 
sometimes  speaking  very  intelligibly  of  the  olden  time.  But  these 
kinds  of  houses  are  not  confined  to  the  neighborhood.  In  the 
direction  of  St.  Sulpice  and  St.  Germain  des  Pres,  and  in  the 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  63 

direction  opposite  that  of  the  Pantheon  and  St.  Medard,  many- 
such  are  to  be  seen.  The  strangeness  of  the  houses  is  not  so 
apparent  until  one  looks  upward  towards  the  roof.  Some  of 
them  indeed  have  great  doorways  and  barred  windows  below, 
and  some  have  lanterns  at  the  corners  like  the  poops  of  ancient 
ships,  and  some  of  these  display  much  taste  and  deserve  to  be 
called  even  beautiful.  I  saw  one  to-day  which  hung  in  the  most 
picturesque  manner  to  the  corner  of  a  large  castle-like  house  in 
the  Rue  Jacob.  It  was  square,  and  its  bases  supported  by  highly 
ornamented  and  sculptured  corbels  or  brackets.  .  .  . 

July  23 . —  .  .  .  Returning  I  stopped  to  see  some  more  Murillos 
and  found  one  gem,  a  little  boy  stooping  on  the  seashore  with  a 
shell  in  his  hand,  but  looking  up  with  the  most  artless,  natural 
expression  in  the  world,  in  the  face  of  a  mitred  man  who  seems 
to  be  wondering  at  something  the  child  has  done  or  said.  If  I 
were  called  upon  to  point  out  the  paintings  which  please  me  most 
in  the  Musee  Royal,  I  would  say  first  Raphael's  head,  sometimes 
called  "the  student";  second  the  child  in  this  picture  of  Murillo; 
third  Raphael's  St.  —  on  the  dragon's  fin;  fourth  Vernet's  sea 
scene;  fifth  the  great  painting  of  Napoleon  at  Eylau.  Then 
came  a  hundred — and  then  a  thousand — and  after  that  two  or 
three  thousand  and  so  on. 

July  24,  1844. — The  idlers  I  saw  yesterday,  riding  about  the 
Invalides  in  their  voitures,  and  sitting  under  the  trees  in  the  Luxem- 
bourg; the  "ouvriers"  I  saw  to-day  passing  in  a  thick,  incessant 
procession  across  the  bridge  at  Notre  Dame,  from  their  homes  in 
the  S.  E.  parts  of  the  old  city,  over  across  the  Isle  de  la  Cite, 
into  the  business  thoroughfares  north  of  the  Seine.  It  was  a 
pretty  and  curious  sight.  Hundreds  and  hundreds  of  them  came 
thronging  on,  along  the  quay  walks  from  as  far  up  the  river  as 
I  could  see,  while  others  emerging  from  the  various  streets 
abutting  on  the  river,  were  also  bending  their  steps  toward  the 
bridge — one  by  which  they  could  cross  free.  Men  with  coats 
half  on  and  bread  under  their  arms  or  carrying  implements  of 
labor; — women  with  willow  corbs  behind  their  backs,  or  with 
brooms  in  their  hands  or  baskets;  porters  with  their  frames 
between  their  shoulders;  girls  and  boys — all  trudging  along  in 
squads  and  lines,  talking  and  laughing  as  they  went,  passed  over 
and  round  the  front  of  the  great  church  as  it  stood  in  the  gray 
subdued  light  of  the  early  clouded  sky,  seemingly  quite  regardless 
that  these  were  they  who  filled  its  immense  aisles  on  their  solemn 


64  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  v 

festivals.  It  rather  seemed  intent  upon  its  own  higher  things 
and  thoughts,  as  it  reached  aloft  its  double  head  and  gazed  abroad 
over  the  yet  half-sleeping  city. 

I  know  not  a  more  interesting  walk  than  to  go  about  4.30  or 
5  o'clock  along  some  thoroughfare  of  Paris  until  you  reach  the 
Seine,  and  then  stand  upon  one  of  the  bridges — say  Pont  Neuf — 
and  watch  the  young  sunlight  lighting  up  with  sidelong  rays  the 
Eastern  front  of  the  Louvre,  and  the  more  open  and  bolder  face 
of  the  palace  on  the  Quai  Conti,  with  its  central  pediment  and 
screen  of  columns,  gleaming  from  the  glass  on  the  summit  of 
the  dome  of  the  Institute,  while  the  Jong  line  of  Tuileries  is  yet 
in  shade,  and  the  wonderful  Arc  d'Etoile  afar  off  stands  hke  a 
thought  just  taking  substance  and  a  visible  form  in  the  misty  air 
of  the  West.  Then  to  go  along  the  quais  of  the  Isle  de  la  Cite, 
and  be  charmed  anew  with  the  phantom  of  that  solitary  Tower 
of  the  vanished  church  across  the  river,  and  pass  on  from  bridge 
to  bridge,  standing  awhile  under  the  round  and  ancient  towers 
of  the  Palais  de  Justice,  or  opposite  the  tall  square  tower  at  its 
end — and  stopping  to  admire  the  rejuvenized  beauty  of  the  Hotel 
de  Ville  and  the  tall  roof  of  the  church  of  St.  Antoine  looking 
down  upon  it  from  the  East:  and  so  going  round  past  the  sus- 
pension bridge  of  Louis  Philippe  with  its  large  central  pier  on 
the  point  of  the  Isle  de  St.  Louis,  and  the  elegant  little  Gothic 
suspension  bridge  a  hundred  steps  beyond— until  Notre  Dame 
rises  before  you  on  the  right,  with  its  beautiful  arches  and  majes- 
tic buttresses,  lying  like  a  sleeping  lion  in  the  greatness  of  its 
might.  .  .  . 

.  ,  .  Paris  is  full  of  wonders — at  least  such  as  are  wonders  to 
one  of  the  Savages  from  the  United  States  of  America.  .  .  .  After- 
wards I  took  my  hat  and  went  to  the  Bibliotheque  Mazarin 
where  I  saw  some  fine  busts  and  vases.  As  I  approached  a  bust 
in  a  dark  corner,  at  the  first  glance  I  exclaimed  mentally  "that's 
old  Benny."  Sure  enough;  there  was  no  mistaking  the  great 
phiz.  It  was  delightful  to  see  the  head  of  our  philosopher  in  a 
library  of  Paris.  Among  others  I  observed  one  of  Azara  who, 
if  his  bust  be  a  portrait  indeed,  must  have  been  one  of  the  hand- 
somest men  that  ever  lived.  There  is  also  here  an  immense 
globe  seven  or  eight  feet  through.  There  is  some  satisfaction  in 
studying  geography  or  planning  a  tour  on  such  a  map. 

But  the  great  attraction  here  is  a  large  collection  of  finely  exe- 
cuted models  of  the  principal  Cyclopean  or  Pelasgian  structures 
of  southern  Europe.     Such  as  the  arch  at  Arpinum,  now  Arpino. 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  65 

The  port  or  gate  of  the  Acropolis  at  Tarentum,  exhibiting  the 
successive  styles  of  different  ages.  . . . 

.  .  .  On  my  way  to  the  observatory  I  saw  a  crowd  under 
one  of  the  rows  of  trees  between  the  Luxembourg  gardens  and 
the  Observatoire  Gate,  and  stepping  up  to  it  I  soon  learned 
the  meaning  of  the  appellation  Boulevards.  The  game  had 
two  sides,  apparently,  like  cricket,  and  began  with  rolling  le 
petit  houle  off  in  any  direction.  When  it  stopped,  the  large 
balls  (three  inches  through  and  ornamented  with  spots  or  stars 
all  over)  were  rolled  after  or  towards  it  by  the  players,  each 
rolling  two  balls  and  the  sides  taking  turns.  The  point  was 
gained,  as  in  quoits,  by  the  side  whose  ball  or  balls  lay  in  next 
the  petit  houle.  Some  of  the  players  seemed  to  like  a  particular 
kind  of  game  best,  and  to  take  it  for  theirs;  it  consisted  in  "f rap- 
pant"  any  of  the  opposite  balls  which  lay  so  close  in  as  to  threaten 
to  take  the  game,  and  they  would,  instead  of  rolling  their  ball, 
pitch  it  through  the  air  on  top  of  the  ball  which  would  otherwise 
have  won  the  game,  but  now,  if  struck  fair,  would  be  driven  to 
a  great  distance.  The  rolling  balls  were  quite  numerous — 
perhaps  twenty  in  number.  When  the  last  ball  was  rolled  and 
the  point  declared,  the  players  all  adjourned  to  the  place  where 
the  little  ball  lay,  and  one  of  them  taking  it  up  would  roll  it  off 
again  in  any  direction  and  the  game  would  continue.  It  was 
quite  exciting,  for  the  ground  of  course  was  uneven,  and  it  re- 
quired a  nice  eye  and  a  steady  hand  to  make  the  houles  take  any 
given  direction  with  precision.  .  .  . 

Thursday,  July  25,  1844. — Requested  my  French  teacher  to 
come  in  future  every  day.  We  had  a  long  talk  about  the  places 
he  has  been  in  as  professor,  or  botanist,  or  visitor.  .  .  . 

There  is  a  show  of  simple-hearted  affection  among  all  classes 
of  the  French  population  which  impresses  a  stranger  with  very 
favorable  ideas  of  their  domestic  life.  The  Americans  are  so 
afraid  of  exhibiting  emotion,  that  its  repression  in  public  by  them 
must  injure  its  tone  in  private.  Here  freedom  is  in  nothing  more 
apparent  than  in  this.  Men  and  women  kiss  in  public,  yet  not 
publicly.  It  is  accomplished  so  delicately  and  dexterously,  with 
a  complete  absence  of  all  the  loud-laughing  and  bonnet-crushing 
of  boarding-school  girls  in  America  and  England,  at  stage-coach 
doors,  etc.,  that  if  noticed  at  all  it  is  but  to  be  admired:— Boon 
described  to  me  a  sight  he  enjoyed  in  the  Champs  Elysees 
before  one  of  the  paAilion  cafes  on  the  Northern  side  of  the  avenue, 
and  did  it  as  if  his  own  feelings  mingled  with  those  which  he 


66  LIFE   AND   LETTERS  chap,  v 

described.  A  gentleman  and  lady — "they  were  lovers,"  said 
he,  "I  know  they  were  lovers" — were  seated  like  hundreds  of 
others  at  one  of  the  little  tables  under  the  trees;  music  came  from 
the  balcony;  lemonade  stood  beside  them  on  the  table;  the  seated 
crowd  talked  and  laughed  and  drank  around  them,  but  they 
had  no  eyes  nor  ears  but  for  each  other.  The  lady  was  in  grief 
■ — the  gentleman  was  soothing  her,  taking  her  hands  from  her 
face,  and  now  and  then  whispering  words  of  soft  import  to  as- 
suage the  poignancy  of  her  emotions,  whatever  they  might  be. 
"It  was  charming — charming" — he  exclaimed.  "And  was 
no  notice  taken  of  it  by  others?"  "Oh,  no;  everybody  was 
drinking  their  own  lemonade  and  talking  to  their  own  wives 
and  children."  Such  is  Parisian  life  in  the  evening.  ...  I  went 
to  the  Palais  Royal;  a  crowd  filled  the  upper  part  of  the  gardens 
in  front  of  the  pavilion.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  But  my  evening's  search  was  for  the  children,  nor  was  a 
protracted  search  needful.  There  they  were  in  a  ring,  a  crowd  of 
delighted  seniors  among  them,  playing  at  a  game,  in  which  one 
chased  another  alternately  in  and  out  of  the  circle.  Their  ingenu- 
ous, artless  countenances  flushed  with  pleasure  and  exercise,  their 
ladylike  manners  and  perfect  decorum,  with  the  unrestrained  vi- 
vacity which,  as  the  offspring  of  this  pleasure-loving,  pleasure- 
seeking  people,  they  had  to  inherit,  were  delightful  to  behold. 
I  stood  a  half-hour  watching  the  play  of  soul  under  those  pretty 
young  masks,  and  smiling  with  unalloyed  pleasure,  as  a  hundred 
others  were  doing  also,  at  the  happiness  so  unequivocally  en- 
joyed by  these  little  ones.  The  French  children  are  as  generally 
pretty  and  interesting  as  their  mothers  are  the  contrary.  Tho' 
their  complexions  are  seldom  quite  clear  and  often  are  very 
sallow,  yet  their  benignity,  cheerfulness  and  openness  supply 
the  absence  of  all  defects  and  render  them  exceedingly  agree- 
able. 

When  the  little  circle  broke  and  scattered  with  the  impromptu 
rapidity  with  which  everything  is  here  done — for  in  matters  of 
amusement  a  French  crowd  seems  actuated  by  a  common  instinct, 
or  at  least  by  that  telegraphic  intelligence  with  which  long  habits 
of  crowding  have  provided  them — I  took  a  seat  and  employed 
the  rest  of  the  evening  observing  the  children's  movements  when 
playing  alone,  or  by  two  and  three  around  the  garden — with  balls 
and  tops  and  hoops — winding  undisturbed  and  unobtruding 
thro'  all  the  interstices  of  the  crowds  of  older  people,  and  paying 
an  extraordinary  degree  of  attention  to  the  wants  and  rights  of 
one  another.     There  were  also  little  ones  in  arms — or  standing 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO   EUROPE  67 

by  chairs,  munching  away  at  a  kind  of  light  cake  rolled  into  a 
cone,  which  seemed  to  be  in  great  demand.  .  .  . 

Saturday,  July  27,  1844. — First  day  of  the  fete  des  trois  jours. 
The  bells  of  all  the  churches  are  going  and  high  mass  is  saying 
for  the  service  of  the  victims  of  1830.  .  .  . 

Monday,  Jtdy  29,  1844. — The  last  great  day  of  the  Fete 
opened  at  6  o'clock  with  the  firing  of  cannon  at  the  Invalides.  At 
I  o'clock  Boon  came  for  me  and  we  went  thither.  .  .  . 

...  But  the  King  came  at  last,  a  short  fat  man  in  uniform 
and  not  a  voice  or  hand  was  raised,  for  the  people  are  offended 
with  him  for  not  redeeming  his  promises.  And  the  Queen  was 
at  his  right,  and  Adelaide  his  sister  at  his  left.  Behind  stood 
the  Dues  de  Nemours  and  Montpensier,  and  the  king  of  the 
Belgians,  Leopold,  Louis  Philippe's  brother-in-law.  .  .  . 

Tuesday,  Jidy  30,  1844. — Began  business,  running  round  to 
shop  and  after  my  passport,  which  I  reclaimed  at  the  ofl&ce  of 
the  Prefecture  of  Police,  and  was  directed  to  take  a  mile  or  two 
off  to  the  Hotel  des  Princes,  where  the  bureau  of  our  minister. 
King,  is  at  present.  A  gentlemanly  young  man,  black,  opened 
the  door  and  said  Mr.  King  was  just  going  out — and  that  the 
passport  hours  (12-2)  had  expired. 

What  a  sight  for  Frenchmen!  Whether  this  man  is  a  slave 
or  not,  it  makes  little  difference.  Here  comes  to  the  Court  of 
Louis  Philippe,  to  the  City  which  is  called  the  centre  of  the 
world's  civilization,  an  honorable  ambassador  for  the  United 
States  of  America,  the  great  and  glorious  Republic — the  land 
of  Freedom.  And  when  men  enter  his  doors  to  greet  him  and 
pay  his  country  thro'  him  the  honors  it  demands,  the  first  object 
they  behold  is  the  ambassador's  slave.  Even  if  he  has  freed  him, 
no  matter,  the  lesson  is  the  same.  It  might  have  been  a  slave 
without  libelling  the  American  government.  And  yet  since  the 
whites  of  the  states  are  represented  by  a  white  Ambassador  it 
seems  proper  enough  that  the  three  millions  of  slaves  should  be 
also  represented  in  foreign  courts,  if  for  no  other  purpose  than 
to  guarantee  a  perpetual  tribute  of  reproach  to  our  beloved 
country  from  less  highly  favored  lands.  If  slavery  cannot  be 
removed  from  our  own  soil,  at  least  let  us  not  send  forth  men 
who  must  thrust  it  under  the  very  noses  of  foreign  states.  .  .  . 

July  7,1st. — .  .  .  Went  this  morning  to  M.  Monod,  who  had 
but  five  minutes  to  spare,  and  told  me  to  get  my  trunk  wrapped 


68  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  v 

in  straw  and  sent  by  a  "roulage" — a,  slow  wagon  (20-30  days 
on  the  road)  to  Geneva.  He  gave  me  a  note  which  I  afterward 
delivered  at  the  office  of  the  Society,  and  received  a  copy  of  the 
instructions  given  to  colporteurs  and  two  memoranda  by  which 
I  can  see  the  men  a  I'ceuvre.  Their  object  is  to  have  two  men 
in  every  one  of  the  86  departments  of  France — some  depart- 
ments are  divided  into  700  cantons.  What  a  labor!  I  saw  one 
of  their  atlases  in  which  is  a  separate  map  of  every  department, 
and  all  its  villages  dovm — under  each  of  which  has  been  vis- 
ited (i.e.,  every  house  in  it)  is  dravra  a  red  line;  and  then  each 
man  makes  his  monthly  report  by  mail  of  the  cantons  visited, 
number  of  Bibles  and  Testaments  sold,  etc. 

I  went  also  and  got  my  passport  signed  by  Mr.  Martin,  Sec- 
retary of  Legation,  but  heard  nothing  of  the  letter  I  left  yesterday 
for  Mr.  King.  I  then  took  my  passport  to  Meurice's  Hotel,  as 
I  was  aware  I  would  have  much  labor  and  many  annoyances  if 
I  attempted  to  get  myself  the  signatures  of  the  Ambassadors  of 
all  the  European  states  I  mean  to  travel  in.  To  do  this  is  best, 
since  if  they  be  not  obtained  here  all  at  once,  they  must  else- 
where in  many  different  places.  I  left  my  passport  at  the  bureau 
of  the  Hotel  with  a  list  of  countries  pinned  on  it,  and  am  to  call 
for  it  on  Friday  afternoon.  Two  days  at  least  are  required. 
Commissionaires  are  to  be  found  in  the  streets,  but  I  was  deter- 
mined the  thing  should  be  done  right,  and  give  me  as  littie  trouble 
and  anxiety  in  future  as  possible. 

Thursday,  August  i. — Made  all  my  arrangements  and  packed 
up;  bought  a  trunk  for  32  francs,  etc.  Evening,  went  and 
called  upon  Elie  de  Beaumont,  who  received  me  politely  in  the 
cheerless  ofl&ce  of  his  distillery  (as  I  took  it  to  be)  behind  the 
Invalides, — but  didn't  invite  me  into  his  house.  .  .  .  He  has  a 
ragged,  wear  and  tear  look.  How  our  ungrounded  anticipations 
of  men  and  things  are  deceived,  when  they  come  into  presence! 
I  handed  him  the  trace-paper  draft  of  the  Bear  Gap  Section  which 
I  received  last  spring  from  Harrisburg.  He  handed  it  back  when 
he  had  looked  at  it,  but  when  I  half  uttered  an  offer  of  it  for  his 
acceptance,  he  drew  in  his  hand  with  a  rapidity  which  showed 
he  had  been  very  desirous  to  retain  it.  He  said  it  was  very  inter- 
esting. He  talks  English  very  well  for  a  Frenchman  in  Paris, 
but  I  have  remarked  how  purely  Saxon  they  all  talk.  It  is  easily 
accounted  for,  since  all  our  monosyllables  and  most  of  the  neces- 
sary subjects  of  every-day  conversation  belong  to  that  section 
of  our  language.  .  .  . 


ig44  FIRST  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  69 

Friday,  August  2. —  ...  It  was  my  intention  to  have  left  to- 
morrow for  Rouen,  but  Boon  is  in  great  trouble  about  not  receiv- 
ing answers  from  London  to  his  letter  to  his  agent  there,  and  I 
put  it  off  till  Monday. 

At  three  o'clock  I  went,  by  appointment  with  M.  Elie  de 
Beaumont,  to  the  School  of  Mines,  and  saw  his  large  and  very 
beautiful  geological  map  of  France.  He  then  lent  me  four  sec- 
tions of  its  duplicate  to  take  with  me  home  to  take  notes  from, — 
a  mark  of  confidence  sufficiently  strong,  seeing  he  didn't  know 
even  where  I  stayed  in  Paris. 

I  bought  to-day  a  knapsack  and  a  blouse,  the  first  for  18, 
the  latter  for  1 5  francs.  The  blouse  is  a  fine  dress,  warm,  pleas- 
ant and  picturesque  (before  it  gets  dirty  and  slouchy)  and  is 
confined  by  a  leather  "ceinhcre"  in  folds  to  the  waist.  It  is  noth- 
ing more  or  less  than  a  hempen  shirt,  tight  all  round  the  skirt 
and  finished  with  two  little  pockets  on  the  breasts.  Some  wear 
a  girdle  of  leather,  double,  with  openings  for  purses  as  in  the 
East,  looking  and  buckling  very  much  like  the  circingle  of  a 
horse.  Genteel  blouses  are  gray,  and  fashionable  ones  are  frilled 
and  girt  when  made,  like  a  woman's  frock  body. 

My  intention  is  to  wear  in  very  hot  days  only  the  blouse; 
in  morning  and  evening  walks,  my  tweed  coat  with  the  blouse 
above;  and  in  cold  weather,  I  carry  a  linen  frock  coat,  which  I 
put  underneath  both. 

"Antiquaries  greatly  regret  the  loss  of  a  statue  of  the  goddess 
Isis  which  had  been  allowed  to  remain  standing  over  the  prin- 
cipal door  of  the  Church  of  St.  Germain  des  Pres,  on  account 
of  its  antiquity.  In  15 14  a  good  woman  having  taken  this  figure 
for  that  of  the  Virgin  Mary  and  being  about  to  burn  before  it  a 
bunch  of  candles,  the  Abbe  in  a  pious  rage  had  it  broken  to  pieces 
to  prevent  future  idolatry,  and  they  placed  in  its  stead  a  great 
cross  which  remains  there  yet."  If  Papacy  be  not  idolatry, 
why  was  this  woman's  mistake  productive  of  such  mischief  to  the 
poor  image?  If  she  burned  candles  to  the  Virgin  Mary  and 
not  to  her  image — then  one  stone  figure,  in  the  shape  of  a  woman, 
would  have  answered  her  purpose  just  as  well  as  another.  No! 
Rome  allows  no  worship  to  be  rendered  to  any  gods  but  those 
she  herself  makes.  .  .  . 

Aug.  4. — I  look  forward  to  the  opening  of  my  journey  on 
to-morrow  with  unusual  irresolution  and  distrust.  I  seem  to  be 
letting  go  of  my  last  hold  upon  civilization  and  of  home,  on 
letting  go  of  Paris.     I  have  not  enjoyed  Paris  as  many  do — 


70  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  v 

yet  it  has  been  to  me  a  temporary  home,  and  my  habits  have  long 
been  such  that  a  spot  where  I  reside  for  a  week  becomes  dear  to 
me  as  a  scene  of  rest  and  a  place  of  recollections. 

And  now  I  depart  into  the  wilderness.  Alone: — a  stranger 
in  a  strange  land,  to  make  my  way  against  many  obstacles,  to 
submit  to  many  inconveniences,  impositions  and  mishaps, — yet, 
I  hope,  also  to  prove  in  many  a  new  way  the  goodness  of  the 
Lord  to  one  of  his  most  unworthy  servants.  I  commit  myself  to 
his  long  suffrance,  guiding  care  and  watchful  protection,  and 
committing  my  ways  unto  the  Lord,  I  hope  in  his  promise  to 
direct  my  steps.  ... 

Aug.  5. — From  Paris  to  Gaillon  I  came  in  one  of  these  third- 
class  open  cars.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  There  was  a  laughable  book  printed  50  or  60  years  ago  and 
very  well  received  at  Paris,  entitled  "A  voyage  from  Paris  to 
St.  Cloud  by  sea,  and  a  voyage  from  St.  Cloud  to  Paris  by  land"; 
and  the  noted  places  of  the  world  were  laughably  introduced 
as  located  by  the  voyager,  in  his  ignorance  of  any  world  but 
Paris,  in  its  immediate  vicinity. 

I  left  this  poor  fellow's  world,  pour  parcourir  le  nionde,  with 
a  feeling  of  sincere  satisfaction,  and  scarcely  gave  a  parting 
look  at  the  noble  columns  of  the  Madeleine  as  I  passed.  Knap- 
sack and  blouse  on  back,  and  umbrella  in  hand,  I  felt  that  I  was 
once  again  a  free  man ;  and  I  stepped  under  my  burden  with  the 
elasticity  of  hope  and  the  firmness  of  determination.  With  all 
my  care,  articles  accumulated,  and  the  knapsack  is  not  a  very 
light  one,  twelve  pounds — although  a  veteran  guide  would  laugh 
it  to  scorn.  ,  . . 

My  father  found  a  charming  reminder  of  this  trip  down 
the  Seine  in  a  little  volume  entitled  "Our  Autumn  Journey 
on  French  Rivers,"  which  he  read  many  years  later  with 
great  delight. 

The  scenery  of  the  Seine  bears  much  resemblance  to  that  of 
the  Mohawk,  and  from  the  same  cause;  a  wide  valley  of  denuda- 
tion; excavated  in  a  rolling  country  of  nearly  horizontal  dip; 
and  filled  and  flattened  by  diluvial  and  alluvial  deposits.  Some- 
times the  ranges  of  hills  on  each  side — i.e.,  the  escarpments  of 
the  upland,  were  regularly  grooved  and  fluted,  and  strikingly 
like  the  Orwigsburg  valley  hills  of  F.  VIII.  (?)     The  material 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  71 

in  both  cases  is  soft;  here  a  chalk,  there  a  compact  slate;  and 
in  both  homogeneous  and  slightly  inclined. 

The  severity  of  the  rain  however,  forbade  much  extensive 
examination,  until  after  having  passed  numerous  villages,  and 
through  a  two-mile  (2480  Yards)  tunnel,  which  seemed  as  though 
it  had  no  other  end,  I  got  out  at  the  station  for  Gaillon,  and 
shouldering  my  sack,  walked  down  to  the  ferry.  A  large  punt 
came  over  for  us,  for  quite  a  party  had  collected  on  the  bank.  It 
was  propelled  by  the  force  of  the  stream  against  its  side,  while 
it  was  held  in  an  oblique  position,  by  a  large  rope  extended  from 
side  to  side  of  the  river  and  working  over  wooden  pulleys,  on  the 
gunwale. 

Four  miles  brought  me  to  the  object  of  my  excursion,  Rich- 
ard's pet  castle  of  Normandy — Chateau  Gaillard  or  the  saucy 
fortress,  and  which  he  built  in  one  year,  in  spite  of  the  promise 
he  had  given  his  rival  Philip  Augustus,  not  to  fortify  Andelys. 
I  was  highly  delighted  with  it.  Before  reaching  it  however, 
I  had  sketched  it,  while  still  on  the  road  over  what  seemed  to  be 
a  cultivated  commons. 

While  making  my  rude  sketch  two  peasants  passed  me  whom 
I  afterwards  overtook  and  held  in  conversation  along  the  road 
until,  passing  through  a  street  of  huts,  filled  with  cows  and  women 
leading  them,  and  men  going  to  labor,  after  their  dinner  hour  had 
passed, — and  so  under  the  chalk  cliffs  on  which  the  mouldering 
walls  of  the  old  castle  still  stand — we  entered  the  little  valley  of 
Pet.  Andelys 

Wednesday,  August  7,  1844. — I  am  more  and  more  of  the 
opinion  that  the  Norman  houses  were  built  by  artists  who  came 
from  the  East  and  South,  or  at  least  that  they  had  followed  the 
knights  in  the  crusades,  or  the  pilgrims  in  the  pilgrimages  to 
Palestine.  No  one  who  looks  down  upon  the  two  splendid 
towers  of  Jumieges  Abbey  but  will  be  struck  with  their  complete 
Roman  appearance.  One  might  suppose  himself  gazing  at  two 
of  Herod's  towers.  Running  up  plain  and  massive,  as  though 
they  were  to  bear  a  mountain,  to  the  height  of  a  hundred  or  a 
hundred  and  fifty  feet,  and  then  in  stories  with  Roman  arch  win- 
dows, a  hundred  feet  more,  ending  in  octagonal  tops — they  are 
the  perfection  of  architectural  grandeur  and  beauty.  I  am 
only  too  discontented  with  myself  that  I  did  not  draw  them,  but 
I  thought  I  would  find  them  in  print  shops  elsewhere.  Had 
they  their  ancient  spires  on,  they  would  look  more  Gothic  and 
less  Roman,  it  is  very  true,  but  as  they  stand  they  are  irre- 


R:'""- :,. 


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'4    ''' 


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St.  Georges  de  Boucherville 
Aug.  7,   1844 


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St.  Georges  de  Boucherville 
Aug.  7,  1844 


*J4  LIFE  ANt)   LETTERS  cSAl>.  V 

fragable   evidences  to   the  Roman  parentage  of   the  Norman 
Architecture. 

It  must  have  been  ii  o'clock  when  I  resumed  my  knapsack 
and  trudged  back  through  other  streets  of  the  little  village  and 
along  the  main  road  again  towards  Duclair.  ...  At  one  time  I 
stopped  and  stared  in  amazement  at  what  I  supposed  to  be  the 
remains  of  an  immense  dilapidated  castle,  but  on  going  round 
it  I  saw  that  it  was  but  a  "pulpit  rock"  left  by  the  denudation, 
and  composed  of  the  horizontal  and  evenly  stratified  layers  of 
chalk  and  flint.  Sloops  were  tacking  against  the  stray  North- 
west wind,  down  the  river,  and  a  brig  was  anchoring  front  of  a 
large  chalk  quarry,  where  the  chalk  was  so  pure  and  soft  that  it 
seemed  scarcely  to  need  refining.  Then  I  came  to  where  the 
face  of  the  promontories  had  been  cut  down  straight,  either  by 
water  or  the  hand  of  man,  and  in  them  were  doors  and  windows; 
and  their  sides  were  smoked,  and  chimneys  projected  from  their 
angles  or  ran  up  the  wall  of  rock.  I  had  come  to  the  abodes 
of  the  Troglodytes  of  France.  .  .  . 

Afterwards  I  sat  and  wrote  until  two  diligences  rolled  by  and 
reminded  me  I  had  a  long  way  yet  to  walk.  Just  before  I  entered 
the  house  I  saw  a  steamboat  go  puffing  down  the  river,  and  soon 
after  a  band  of  music  struck  up  some  martial  air  on  board,  and 
the  tones  floated  charmingly  over  the  waters. 

Between  St.  Georges  and  Duclair,  as  I  said,  the  road  and 
scenery  was  charming.  .  .  . 

Thus  I  walked  under  the  trees,  occasionally  plucking  some  of 
the  innumerable  varieties  of  wild  flowers,  and  vainly  wishing 
that  she  I  loved  was  enjoying  the  charms  of  all  this  with  me,  my 
dear  sister,  until  I  again  emerged  on  the  open  road  and  passed 
the  chateau,  or  country  house,  such  as  we  are  used  to  seeing 
everywhere  near  our  cities  in  the  spots  of  the  landscape  which  are 
most  attractive  to  a  reiined  taste  and  generous  heart.  Most  of 
these  chateaux  may  be  described  as  large  "double"  houses,  two 
windows  on  each  side  of  the  door  and  two  stories  high.  Some- 
times additions  are  made  to  them  (perhaps  from  time  to  time)  of 
other  buildings  on  each  side,  the  whole  very  neat,  but  not  dis- 
playing any  magnificence,  or  much  true  taste — (a  thing,  by  the 
by,  which  seems  to  have  been  only  recently  imported  into  France) . 
Up  to  these  chateaux  there  generally  leads  a  stiff  avenue  of  great 
elms,  happy  if  left  in  virgin  loveliness,  but  frequently  most 
barbarously  trimmed  of  their  fair  proportions,  and  presenting  to 
foreign  eyes  pictures  of  distress.  In  the  court  or  lawn  before  one 
of  these  minor  chateaux,  I  saw  a  poor  box-tree  which  had  been 


J 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO   EUROPE  75 

metamorphosed  into  a  chanticleer,  and  seemed  to  be  choking 
with  grief  in  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  crow  its  expostulations 
towards  the  sitting-room  windows  of  its  cruel  master.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Leaving  Duclair,  I  again  toiled  up  the  escarpment,  to 
cross  the  next  peninsula,  and  when  within  a  very  short  distance 
of  the  little  village  of  Yainville  I  turned  again  to  the  left  to  seek 
the  abbey  ruin  of  Jumieges  two  miles  distant.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Leaving  the  abbey  with  regret,  I  was  forced  to  hurry 
on,  tired  as  I  was,  to  attempt  to  reach  Caudebec  by  night.  It 
was  six  o'clock,  and  at  seven,  as  I  ascended  the  long  hill  beyond 
letrain  [sic],  ...  I  listened  with  delight  to  the  high  tones  of  the 
church  bell  of  Jumieges,  floating  in  long  cadences  down  the  valley, 
and  I  thought  of  the  song  of  the  convent  bell  and  how  it  was 
when  the  bell  hung  in  the  abbey  church  tower  and  died  away  in 
its  sonorous  cadences  long  before  it  reached  the  ears  of  the  outer- 
most peasantry  of  the  lord  abbot. 

Reaching  the  top  of  the  hill,  in  a  hard  shower  (for  I  seem  to 
be  as  unfortunate  in  France  as  I  was  favored  in  England) ,  I  waited 
there  till  an  omnibus  came  up  into  which  I  got  and  rode  until  it 
turned  aside  at  the  la  Maillerie  ferry.  I  never  knew  rightly 
what  I  paid  the  man,  for  I  gave  him  a  five-franc  piece  and  he 
handed  me  back  a  handful  of  change  amounting  as  I  thought  to 
its  full  equivalent.  I  am  not  yet  quite  up  to  the  coin.  Continu- 
ing along  the  road  "over  the  shoulders  of  the  hills"  and  scarcely 
able  to  move  from  fatigue,  night  fell  before  I  reached  the  little 
village  of  Caudebec.  .  .  . 

Aug.  8.  .  .  .  The  next  morning  I  was  away  as  usual  about 
six  o'clock,  and  reached  Lillebonne  by  eleven,  and  Bolbec  by  noon, 
where  I  dined  on  some  fine  cold  veal  and  potatoes  (hot),  and  at 
two  o'clock  took  the  diligence  to  Havre,  being  completely  used  up 
about  the  lower  extremities.  My  knapsack  is  nothing  to  carry, 
indeed  it  feels  rather  comfortable  than  otherwise;  but  my  feet 
became  painfully  blistered  and  I  lay  at  Havre  late  in  bed  and 
wrote  all  the  morning  of  Friday,  until  it  was  time  to  take  the  boat 
at  two-thirty  p.m.  for  Caen. 

Before  leaving  Caudebec,  I  went  to  the  church  and  admired  its 
very  beautiful  tower  and  spire,  standing  at  the  side  of  the  church. 
I  can  only  recall  these  churches  to  mind  by  fixing  their  locality, 
and  to  do  that  some  occurrence  must  be  remembered.  For  this 
I  can  remember  it  by  recollecting  how  I  stopped  and  looked  over 
a  wall,  to  sketch  the  remarkable  dorsal  fin  which  the  architect 
had  lost  his  wits  enough  to  afi&x  to  it.    The  effect  of  the  immense 


76  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  CSAP.  V 

towers  to  these  village  churches  is  quite  indescribable,  giving  to 
them  an  air  of  peculiar  grandeur,  and  casting  a  spirit  of  poetry 
around  the  localities  where  they  stand.  A  village  is  so  dignified 
by  one  such  splendid  steeple,  massive  with  stone,  yet  rich  and 
light  with  tracery  of  Gothic  arches,  pinnacles,  buttresses,  and 
galleries,  that  one  enters  it  with  respect  and  leaves  it  with  regret. . . . 

The  road  to  Lillebonne  was  very  tiresome,  yet  very  pretty 
through  the  Pays  des  Caux  (Caletes — Celts?)  a  high  table-land, 
''fertile,  but  rather  arid."  The  scenery  was  of  course  flat,  but 
very  pretty.  The  descent  upon  Lillebonne  very  pleasing.  Here 
I  caught  sight  of  the  round  tower  of  the  castle  of  William,  where 
he  opened  to  his  barons  the  scheme  of  invading  England.  I  saw 
no  more  of  it  than  I  give  in  the  sketch  a  page  back.  A  little 
further  on,  I  came  to  the  Roman  Amphitheatre,  almost  the  only 
one  in  the  north  of  Europe.  .  .  . 

The  ride  in  the  front  seat,  with  the  French  lady  and  child, 
behind  the  fat  jolly  fellow  in  the  night-cap  and  the  two 
drivers,  was  quite  pleasant.  Our  descent  upon  Harfleur  was 
charming,  and  our  ride  to  Havre  interesting.  .  .  . 

Friday,  August  g,  1844. — I  took  a  forward  passage  to  Caen 
in  the  rain,  for  five  francs  (cabin  six  francs),  and  had  rather  a 
forlorn  time  of  it,  until  we  reached  still  water  and  the  mouth  of 
the  funny  little  Orne,  its  mouth  bent  with  shoals  and  rocks,  and 
the  rest  of  its  way  a  broad  canal,  the  steamboat  (which  only  drew 
three  and  one-half  feet  of  water)  almost  filling  it  up  from  side  to 
side.  .  .  . 

Saturday,  August  10,  1844  (Caen). — Took  a  walk,  altho' 
it  rained  hard  all  day,  to  see  some  of  the  churches.  The  most 
interesting  are  St.  Pierre  and  St.  Etienne  or  Abbaye  aux  Hommes, 
built  by  William  the  Conqueror  and  where  he  was  buried.  At 
the  other  end  of  the  town  I  visited  its  twin  sister,  Abbaye  aux 
Dames,  built  by  Matilda  his  wife,  and  now  a  hospital  as  the  other 
is  a  college.  ,  .  . 

Nothing  could  be  nobler  than  this  severely  plain  front — 
unless  it  be  the  front  of  Jumieges.  The  immense  size  of  these 
structures  cannot  be  exhibited  in  a  picture.  .  .  . 

Alas,  the  evidences  are  drawn  in  broad  lines  that  this  is  a 
land  of  darkness,  where  superstition  reigns.  The  Sabbath  is 
broken  almost  by  the  whole  population.  The  market  is  fuller 
than  on  Saturday.  I  saw  a  man  cross  himself  in  church  as  I 
approached  him,  not  in  his  prayers,  but  because  a  heretic  was  by. 
The  people  are  also  excessively  poor,  and  the  poor   are   more 


i844 


FIRST  TRIP  TO   EUROPE 


77 


numerous  here  than  I  have  seen  them  yet  anywhere.  The  whole 
of  the  bas  peuple — forming  the  mass  of  the  population,  wear  the 
aspect  of  extreme  poverty  and  beg  without  blushing.  It  was 
curious  too  that  they  would  beg  of  me  when  I  had  no  blouse  on 
and  my  tweed  coat  appeared,  but  did  scarcely  trouble  me  when 
my  blouse  covered  the  tweed.  This  morning  I  saw  a  crowd 
of  beggars — old  men  and  women — haggard — dirty — decrepit — 
yet  all  making  some  attempt  at  a  show  of  decency,  as  far  as  I 
could  see,  were  receiving  sous  and  centimes  from  the  hand  of  a 
young  man  at  the  street  door  of  one  of  the  stores  near  the  church. 
I  made  inquiry  and  found  it  was  a  custom  for  the  poor,  after 
receiving  tickets  of  authenticity  from  the  Mayor,  to  make  the 


Church  of  St.  Etienne,  Caen 


tour  of  the  city,  and  receive  at  various  houses  the  pittances  doled 
out  to  them.  It  was,  as  the  man  said,  tres  bien.  It  looked  good, 
and  no  doubt  promoted  greatly  good  feeling  between  the  various 
classes,  as  well  as  being  a  considerable  help  to  those  who  are 
forced  to  live  daily  upon  a  few  sous.  Ah,  if  we  had  the  heart 
to  give,  we  might  soon  learn  that  the  wants  of  the  world  that 
has  not,  would  soon  drain  the  resources  of  the  world  that  has.  .  .  . 

Sabbath,  August  ii,  1844  (Caen). — Attended  Mr.  Hardy's 
French  service  in  the  Protestant  chapel  (Temple,  as  it  is  called 
in  France,  to  distinguish  it  from  the  church  of  the  Papists)  and 
was  delighted  with  its  Presbyterian  simplicity,  and  with  the  pious, 
solemn  earnestness  of  his  manner.  .  . . 


Church  of  St.   Etienne,  Caen 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO   EUROPE  79 

The  churches  are  better  attended  here,  it  seems  to  me,  than 
elsewhere  I  have  been;  yet  I  have  had  but  little  facility  for  judg- 
ing. Generalizations  are  easily  made,  but  less  easily  maintained 
when  made.  .  .  . 

Left  Caen  at  4.30  o'clock  by  the  highroad  to  Bayeux,  and 
past  the  gray  towers  of  St.  Etienne.  .  .  . 

The  houses  in  Normandy  all  seem  to  be  dreading  an  enemy — 
all  clothed  in  mail.  You  enter  a  village,  and  instead  of  passing 
between  rows  of  happy  cottages  with  gardens  in  front  or  at  least 
open  windows  and  doors  at  the  pave,  you  walk  a  narrow  paved 
street,  under  high  blank  stone  walls  with  here  and  there  a  window 
up  towards  the  roof,  buttressed,  and  heavily  gated  where  there 
is  a  gate — all  things  speaking  of  border  raids  and  baronial  feuds, 
and  plundered  villages,  and  people  living  in  constant  terror  of 
their  lives.  A  multitude  of  picturesque  affairs  grow  of  this 
indeed.  You  see  stone  set  up  and  stone  carved  and  stone  falling 
down  and  stone  defaced,  in  all  their  infinite  varieties  of  place. 
Houses  approached  in  all  ways  and  built  in  all  fashions  and  often 
with  little  touches  of  taste  and  nicety  where  one  would  least  ex- 
pect to  find  them,  as  if  the  rough-fisted  necessity  of  the  times  that 
built  them  had  now  and  then  stopped  awhile  to  recreate  and 
amuse  itself  in  tasty  trifles.  This  is  indeed  a  characteristic  of 
all  buildings  here.  Ornament  sticks  to  them  in  byways,  and  is 
as  capricious  as  nature. 

The  morning  sun  broke  gloriously.  The  air  was  pure  from 
the  ocean ;  great  masses  of  gray  clouds  came  from  the  East ;  the 
lark  fluttered  up,  up,  up,  singing  all  the  while  as  if  its  little  throat 
would  burst  with  melody,  and  descending,  only  ceased  its  song 
when  it  dropped  into  the  grain.  I  took  out  my  testament  and 
read;  suddenly  I  raised  my  eyes  and  there,  spanning  the  wide 
heavens,  standing  like  an  angel  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  made 
visible,  glowed  a  glorious  rainbow  in  the  west  and  then,  its  mis- 
sion completed,  gradually  faded  away.  Troops  of  laborers  were 
in  advance  of  me,  in  their  blue  frocks,  singing  as  merrily,  but  not 
quite  so  sweetly  as  the  larks  had  done.  Coming  up  with  them, 
I  entered  into  conversation  with  one,  and  learned  that  they  were 
all  conscripts,  going  to  Cherbourg  for  the  Marine. 

Tuesday,  August  13,  1844  (Bayeux). — I  set  oflf  on  foot  for  St. 
Lo.  21  miles.  I  was  weak  and  had  sore  feet.  The  morning 
was  warm,  but  the  country  very  pretty.  ... 

The  cathedral  at  St.  Lo  has  a  commanding  position,  but  I 
did  not  and  could  not  examine  it.     That  at  Coutances,  where  I 


8o  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  v 

arrived  at  6  o'clock,  is  remarkably  beautiful  and  well  propor- 
tioned, altho'  not  so  large  as  the  first-rate  cathedrals  of  the  North- 
east. .  .  . 

Coutances  is  the  most  curious,  quaint-looking  town  I  have 
yet  fallen  in  with.  Seated  on  a  conical  hill,  its  streets  are  all  up 
and  down,  and  so  narrow  that,  to  prove  it,  I  went  along  with 
my  arms  outspread  and  touched  both  sides  at  once.  At  first  I  hesi- 
tated to  traverse  them,  thinking  they  were  private  thoroughfares 
belonging  to  a  squad  of  houses.  Of  course  little  light  and  air 
could  be  expected  from  such.  Hence  they  are  built  up  with  high 
walls  of  hard  stone — long,  dreary,  winding  walls,  with  house  walls 
and  roofs  rising  up  behind  them,  announcing  that  they  are  but 
mere  enclosures  to  gardens  and  house  lots  within.  This  gives 
a  very  remarkable  air  to  the  whole  place.  The  main  route, 
and  one  or  two  other  streets  pretty  wide  traverse  the  hill,  but  all 
the  rest  are  these  little  lanes.  .  .  . 

Wednesday,  August  13,  1844  (Coutances — Avranches). —  ...  I 
left  Granville  afoot  for  Avranches,  distant  26  kil.  (16-17  miles), 
and  reached  the  latter  about  7  o'clock.  I  find  I  cannot  count 
upon  more  than  15  miles  a  day  walking — nor  expect  to  make  it 
at  a  gait  faster  on  the  average  than  3  miles  an  hour.  I  walked 
5  hours  without  stopping  (except  for  5  minutes  at  a  "belle  vue'' 
— a  hillside,  down  which  I  looked  upon  a  charming  little  vale, 
adorned  with  woods  and  fields  half  hidden,  half  revealed,  two 
mills,  a  bridge,  and  an  old  man  gathering  sheaves  of  tall  French 
clover  and  carrying  them  up  the  steep  slope  to  his  cart.  I  felt 
like  giving  up  Avranches  for  the  night  and  helping  him.  .  .  . 

The  wind  was  strong  and  helped  me  up  the  hills  vastly.  The 
country  is  rolling — on  account  of  the  parallel  ridges  of  primary 
rock — and  hedges  and  orchards  abound,  thus  assimilating  NW. 
Normandy  with  England.  Some  church  towers  would  now  and 
then  peep  up  at  a  distance;  but  as  many  a  flower  is  born  to 
blush  unseen,  so  the  tourist  in  Normandy  must  imagine  there 
are  many  beautiful  spots  and  picturesque  remains  which  he  is 
never  to  see — which  live  only  for  those  who  love  them  and  have 
a  right  to  love  them  by  birthright. 

Thursday,  August  14,  1844  (Avranches — St.  Michel). — Dili- 
gence to  Precy,  a  little  village,  where  I  turned  off  to  the  right 
to  St.  Michel  on  foot  (6  or  7  miles).  On  my  way  conversed 
with  a  French  sportsman  who  thirsted  for  war  with  England, 
and  said  all  the  French  did, — and  the  guard  and  the  conducteur 
grinned  and  showed  too  plainly  they  joined  him.    Why?    I 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  8i 

asked, — war  has  produced  immense  misery  in  France  hitherto. 
Et  void,  coup  de  gloire  aussi  was  his  reply,  as  quick  as  lightning, 
and  he  took  off  his  cap  and  showed  his  bald  head  and  flashing 
eyes.  Glory,  said  I.  Glory  is  nothing — Hen — Hen.  .  .  .  Out — 
et  dieu  aussi  et  dieu  aussi,  said  he,  putting  his  face  close  to  mine. 
Glory  is  the  god  of  France.  Un  dieu  faux,  was  my  sorrowful 
reply,  and  he  readily  assented  that  it  was.  Yes — a  false  god 
whom  they  worship  with  wonderful  ardor.  Ah,  said  he — we 
have  many  things  against  England,  and  we  want  nothing  more 
than  to  come  to  battle  with  her.  Well,  said  I,  England  some 
day  or  other  must  fall  together  by  her  own  weight  and  be  de- 
stroyed by  herself.  Oui,  oui,  oui,  said  he,  and  we  French  will 
just  give  her  one  little  poke  in  the  side,  pour  le  faire  plus  vite 
— plus  vite,  and  he  grew  nervous  with  desire  at  the  thought. 
Ah,  Louis  Philippe  and  Queen  Victoria,  Lord  Palmerston  and 
Guizot — and  all  good  men — may  labor  in  vain  to  preserve  peace 
between  two  nations,  each  unknown  man  and  boy  of  whom 
thirsts  for  war,  and  shows  his  fowling-piece  to  strangers  with 
a  smile — as  if  it  were  a  mousquet.  No,  no,  said  the  guard — not 
that — cannon — cannon . 

His  visit  to  the  Mont  St.  Michel  was  a  notable  one, 
which  he  often  described.  He  went  across  from  the  mainland 
alone,  and  at  that  date  there  was  no  causeway  across  to 
the  castle.  At  low  tide  the  sands  were  bare,  but  so  infested 
with  quicksands  that  only  those  acquainted  with  the  spot 
could  safely  venture  over.  My  father  got  over  with  suffi- 
cient ease,  taking  note  with  a  surveyor's  instinct  that 
the  spot  from  which  he  had  started  was  marked  by  a  white 
house.  When  he  set  out  on  his  return,  however  (the  tide 
having  begun  to  rise),  he  found  to  his  dismay  that  there 
were  a  number  of  white  houses  on  the  mainland  along  the 
water  front,  and  he  could  not  tell  which  one  of  them  was 
his  intended  guiding  point.  He  ran,  therefore,  at  full  speed, 
tacking  about  from  side  to  side  to  keep  on  solid  ground, 
and  reached  the  mainland  at  last,  wet  to  the  knees  and  in  a 
state  of  exhaustion. 

FHday,  August  15,  1844  (Pontorson — Dinan). — My  walk 
of  19  kil.  (11^  m.)  to  Dol  was  charming.  .  .  . 

Then  there  were  old  granite  houses  and  barns,  built  as  if 


82  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  v 

to  stand  forever.  .  .  .  And  the  by-roads,  deep  grooved  into  the 
earth  by  the  wheel-wear  of  centuries,  no  wider  than  a  single  cart, 
and  enclosed  by  thick  hedges  and  rows  of  trees  on  the  top  of 
their  high  banks — all  was  curious  and  very  beautiful,  for  the 
fertility  of  the  soil  and  the  vast  abundance  of  isolated  and  grouped 
trees  would  have  rendered  a  less  picturesque  country  most  in- 
teresting to  the  pedestrian. 

Aug.  1 6  — .  .  .1  have  lost  much  of  my  enthusiasm  already, 
and  seldom  go  much  out  of  my  way  for  anything  not  very  curious. 
I  look  principally  for  the  hearts  of  the  towns,  to  see  their  ancient 
modes  of  building,  and  would  if  I  could  take  many  a  sketch  of 
these,  but  they  are  generally  too  full  of  people,  and  my  foreign 
dress  attracts  too  much  attention.  .  .  . 

My  ride  to  Rennes  in  the  morning  from  nine  to  two  was 
rather  pleasant.  The  country  was  as  usual  fiat,  but  descended 
occasionally  into  valleys.  I  rode  between  the  driver  and  guard, 
and  had  with  the  latter  much  conversation,  in  very  laughable 
attempts  at  bad  French.  I  explained  to  him  how  America  was 
not  a  little  island,  but  two  great  continents  and  had  diverse  gov- 
ernments, of  many  religions,  and  multitudes  of  people,  cities, 
etc.,  all  which  astonished  him  beyond  measure.  He  thought  it 
was  an  island  dependent  upon  England.  The  conversation 
turned  upon  religion,  and  when  I  told  him  I  was  also  a  Protestant 
(in  answer  to  his  question)  he  looked  on  me  with  greater  curiosity. 
I  took  out  my  testament  and  told  him  how  I  valued  it;  and  when 
he  asked  me  if  I  was  not  much  attached  to  my  religion,  I  told 
him  I  would  die  for  it; — I  supposed — I  added — he  would  for  his. 
He  smiled  and  pointed  to  the  horses,  and  said — his  religion  was 
like  theirs.  I  asked  him  if  he  hadn't  a  soul — je  ne  sais  pas — • 
was  his  answer — I  can't  feel  it — I  don't  know — it  is  like  the 
horses  there.  You  believe  there  is  a  God  ? — je  suppose; — peut-etre; 
je  ne  sais  pas.  "Why,"  I  asked,  "who  made  those  trees,  and 
these  horses  and  all  things?"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
said — Of  course  there  was  a  God.  "And  you  think  then,"  was 
his  next  question,  "that  when  you  die  you  will  go  to  heaven?"  I 
told  him  I  had  hope  of  it,  through  Jesus  Christ  my  Saviour.  He 
said  he  knew  that  when  he  died  he  would  be  put  into  the  ground, 
but  didn't  know  whether  there  would  be  any  more  after  that. 

We  then  talked  of  the  priests.  He  asked  if  there  were  any 
in  America.  I  told  him  how  the  sects  stood  there,  and  what 
we  Protestants  thought  of  our  priests — that,  they  were  wise  men, 
but  only  men — they  read  the  Bible  and  so  did  we — they  were 


Top  of  Dolmen  near  Saumur,  and  Implements  found 
within  it 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  85 

our  instructors,  guides  to  heaven,  nothing  more.  We  didn't 
confess  to  them,  but  to  God  and  one  another.  He  seemed  to 
think  that  excellent,  and  said  he  didn't  perform  the  pratique  of 
his  religion  very  much.  I  spoke  then  of  the  way  of  life,  and  how 
it  could  only  be  got  from  the  Bible,  and  advised  him  to  get  one  in 
French  and  read  it.  But  from  the  very  great  difficulty  he  had 
in  spelling  out  a  little  French  sentence  I  wanted  him  to  explain 
the  meaning  of  to  me,  I  doubt  that  he  could  do  much  with  the 
written  word  if  he  had  it.  It  needs  there  be  preachers  sent 
among  this  poor  people.  They  are  very  religious— they  crowd 
the  churches — they  listen  with  attention  to  their  preachers  (as 
I  saw  on  Sunday  evening  in  the  Cathedral  at  Nantes — at  a  sermon 
on  virtue,  its  difficulty  and  facility) — and  they  sadly  need  the 
true  light  which  lighteth  all  men  that  cometh  into  the  world. 

From  Rennes  he  went  by  way  of  Nantes  to  Angers,  where 
he  made  sketches  of  the  castle  with  "its  17  towers  as  round 
as  buttons,"  and  thence  to  Saumur,  where  he  was  greatly 
interested  in  the  famous  Dolmen  (see  sketches  adjoining, 
which  are  two  of  four  pages  of  sketches  taken  of  this  spot), 
and  describes  as  follows : — 

Aug.  22nd. — At  a  little  cottage — ^built,  as  all  the  rest  in  this 
beautiful  region,  of  neady  squared  tufa  stone  and  ornamented 
with  mouldings — I  got  the  key  of  the  Dolmen  and  a  ladder, 
and  after  looking  at  it  within  and  on  top  and  drawing  it  from  two 
positions,  returned  to  Saumur  and  ascended  the  hill  behind  the 
Castle.  .  .  . 

After  dinner  at  Sorgiais  [or  Longrais?]  and  after  having 
written  awhile  and  seen  a  post-chaise  off  with  two  travellers,  who 
changed  their  post  horses  before  the  door,  I  went  my  way  three 
mUes  to  St.  Mars.  As  I  left  Sorgiais  I  unexpectedly  came  upon 
the  flanking  towers  and  then  the  front  of  a  castle— right  down  at 
the  side  of  the  street,  and  in  the  village  (or  town  as  it  deserves 
to  be  called  for  its  size),  and  soon  after  a  noble  church  spire. 
The  latter  I  couldn't  get  admission  to ;  the  castle  was  uncommonly 
beautiful,  and  inhabited.  Repairs  and  new  constructions  of 
triffing  importance  were  going  on,  but  the  old  towers  looked  down 
from  the  upper  air  most  majestically.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
art  of  building  castles  has  been  lost.  No  modem  structure  that 
ever  I  saw,  approached  in  beauty  and  the  picturesque,  these 
ancient  castles.    Perhaps  it  is  because  they  were  built  under 


86  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  v 

rtde,  [?]  in  defiance  of  regularity;  because  they  rose  like  trees, 
one  part  after  another — capriciously  shooting  forth  a  limb  here 
and  a  limb  there,  each  beautiful  and  similar,  but  not  the  same 
with  the  rest.  Harmony  without  uniformity  is  their  chief  charm. 
A  harmony  hardly  obtained  by  similarity  of  form  as  much  as  by 
similarity  of  idea.  A  violin  is  said  to  be  all  the  better  the  oftener 
it  is  broken,  patched  and  glued.  A  castle  may  also  be  said  to  be 
all  the  more  picturesque  the  more  it  has  been  shattered  and  re- 
newed in  various  ages  and  by  different  hands.  .  .  . 

I  then  set  off  again  for  Luynes,  and  had  not  my  feet  hurt 
me  so  dreadfully  (I  don't  know  what  I  am  to  do  with  them) — 
I  would  have  been  delighted.  A  continued  village  of  Troglo- 
dytes lines  the  road  on  the  land  side.  The  strangest  confusion 
prevails.  Some  people's  lanes  are  on  top  of  other  people's  walls; 
some  people's  front  yards  are  on  other  people's  roofs: — some 
people's  chimneys  shoot  up  along  other  people's  front  doors, — • 
and  such  climbing  and  winding  and  manoeuvring  to  arrange 
dwellings  and  courtyards  and  alleys  and  wells — it  is  curious  to 
see.  I  could  have  spent  a  whole  day  in  sketching  had  I  had 
the  time.  .  .  . 

How  much  the  efforts  of  a  stranger  in  a  foreign  tongue  re- 
semble the  constructions  of  Art  in  her  gradations  through  the 
ages!  The  man  at  first  in  sheer  defiance  of  all  its  rules  of  gram- 
mar, makes  use  of  single  words  of  great  force — constructing  a 
whole  wall  of  thoughts  with  half  a  dozen  such  cyclopean,  pelas- 
gian  rocks: — soon  wearied  with  the  labor  requisite  for  such,  he 
builds  but  little  and  only  for  his  necessities.  By  and  by  he 
acquires  greater  facility  in  the  language — he  begins  to  break  his 
great  words  and  cement  them  with  the  smaller  rubble  of  articles 
and  conjunctions: — then  he  comes  to  square  his  blocks  by  rule 
and  compass,  causes  them  to  diminish  in  detail  while  his  struct- 
ures rise  in  magnitude  and  become  diversified  for  use — until  at 
length — with  myriads  of  lingual  bricks,  handled  each  one  with 
marvellous  celerity  and  fitting  each  with  the  other  with  admirable 
precision,  he  builds  whole  cities  whose  inhabitants  are  thoughts, — 
and  sometimes  castles  and  cathedrals  whose  majesty  and  beauty 
astonish  his  fellow-men. 

From  Tours  he  went  by  diligence  to  Bourges  (August  22). 
At  Bourges  on  Sunday,  August  25,  he  happened  into  a  Prot- 
estant church  where  the  sermon  and  the  manner  of  the 
preacher  so  much  attracted  him,  that  after  the  service  he 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO   EUROPE  87 

took  the  opportunity  to  talk  with  him.  As  it  chanced  that 
this  was  the  beginning  of  a  lifelong  friendship,  I  copy  my 
father's  account  of  the  occurrence: — 

Sabbath,  August  25,  1844  (Bourges).— To  my  chagrin  it  was 
ten  o'clock  when  I  awoke  and  dressed  in  haste  and  breakfasted 
at  the  table  d'hote.  Inquiring  my  way,  I  reached  the  Protestant 
chapel  in  the  Rue  St.  Ambroise,  and  occupied  a  few  minutes 
before  service  in  copying  the  chart  afi&xed  to  the  inner  door  of 
the  church,  to  this  effect.  "Le  tresor  des  pauvres" — a  Bible  in 
wood-cut — underneath,  two  columns  of  scripture.  .  .  . 

Over  the  church  door  was  Oratoire — and  on  the  pediment 
"Nous  prechons  Christ  le  seigneur.     II.  Corinth,  iv.  v.  5." 

The  congregation  was  small,  perhaps  twenty.  He  spoke 
at  some  length  on  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  (which  was 
yesterday  in  date)  and  spoke  of  seeing  himself  the  coin  struck 
in  glory  of  it — now  at  Rome.  I  could  understand  but  little  of 
the  sermon,  his  pronunciation  was  rather  thick.  But  it  was 
remarkable  for  its  familiar  manner,  even  interlarded  with  ex- 
pressions in  common  use  of  surprise,  indignation,  etc.,  etc. — such 
as  chut — ah — oh — et  bien — shrugging  the  shoulders — spreading 
the  arms  in  French  method — smiling — throwing  up  the  eye- 
brows— and  all  in  so  perfectly  natural  and  easy  a  manner  that  it 
added  greatly  to  the  effect  without  causing  a  disagreeable  feeling. 

After  service  I  remained  and  addressed  him,  to  know  if  he 
had  another  service, — he  said  yes,  three  miles  distant  at  Asnieres 
and  asking  me  if  I  was  a  stranger,  offered  me  a  seat  in  his  mule 
voiture,  which  I  at  once  accepted.  After  gearing  up  the  mule 
(the  straps  not  running  back  to  a  swingletree,  but  hooked  on 
by  another  strap  to  the  shafts  far  forward),  and  receiving  two 
boys  one  on  each  shaft  and  soon  after  a  young  man  in  a  blouse — 
we  rode  on  together  over  a  very  miry  and  rather  rolling  road  to 
the  village.  On  the  way  I  taught  him  how  to  stop  his  stubborn 
beast  with  whom  he  had  much  trouble  in  that  respect  and  it 
afforded  him  much  amusement  and  some  laughable  imitations. 
Arriving  at  his  house,  his  little  sons  met  us,  and  going  in  we  found 
his  wife  and  daughter;  the  latter  a  mature  and  very  pretty  young 
lady — with  rich  full  black  eyes  and  lively  expression — about 
eighteen.  We  dined  and  went  to  church,  through  an  entry  and 
door  in  the  same  house.  It  was  a  plain  chapel  room  filled  with 
men  on  one  side  in  Sunday  embroidered  blue  blouses — and 
women  in  the  centre  and  on  the  other  side,  in  white  caps  and 
kerchiefs — mostly  with  bare  arms  to  the  elbow  where  a  little 


88  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  v 

white  edge  of  the  under  linen  came  out  from  beneath  the  gray 
or  snuff-colored,  tight  frock  sleeve.  In  front  sat  three  men, 
perhaps  elders,  and  on  the  side  of  the  pulpit  the  children  of  the 
parish  (of  300  Protestants).  Then  he  called  by  name  to  see 
who  were  absent  and  gave  some  severe  rebukes — which  were 
received  by  a  general  smile  through  the  church — a  smile  not  of 
mocking — nor  of  contempt — but  an  animal  smile,  such  as  dogs 
might  give.  Ah,  said  he  afterwards  to  me,  the  people  were  mere 
^'Animaux" — beasts — slow  beasts — no  love — no  hate — pas- 
sionless and  ignorant,  sending  for  a  surgeon  immediately  when 
their  cows  were  sick,  but  saying  their  children  would  soon  get 
well  without — ^refusing  to  take  medicine  if  it  was  at  all  "bad" 
■ — and  as  stubborn  as  mules.  They  never  run  except  when  their 
cattle  are  in  danger.  (And  yet  that  is  instinct — on  them  depends 
their  living  and  they  know  it.)  To  get  them  to  come  to  church 
in  time,  he  had  at  last  to  resort  to  the  plan  of  locking  the  lag- 
gards out.  They  sleep  very  generally  in  church  even  when  they 
are  singing.  Ah,  how  my  heart  leaped  at  the  well-remembered 
notes  of  the  old  tune  which  they  first  sung!  It  took  me  back  into 
the  old  church  at  the  corner  of  Arch  St.,  and  revived  vigorously 
my  desires  for  home.  The  music  here  was  much  more  like 
music  than  in  other  churches  I  have  been  in  in  France;  better 
formed  in  stanzas — and  not  a  mere  continuity  of  notes  without 
design. 

After  church  M.  Bost  took  me  into  his  study  and  left  me 
alone  until  seven  o'clock,  while  he  attended  to  his  duties,  and 
while  his  daughter  instructed  thirty  or  forty  women  for  one 
and  a  half  hours  in  the  church — their  singing  coming  delight- 
fully soothing  through  the  casement  of  the  little  bedroom  at 
the  end  of  the  study.  I  enjoyed  a  good  season  here  for  a  couple 
of  hours,  and  then  was  called  to  a  supper  of  milk  and  fruit. 

Here  we  talked  much  of  the  ignorance  of  the  people  and  of 
the  plainness,  sternness  and  patience  necessary  to  deal  with  them. 
They  are  much  like  our  German  population,  I  have  no  doubt,  and 
I  obtained  a  glimpse  into  the  future  through  the  ministry  of 
this  man  of  God — first-fruit  of  the  great  revival  at  Geneva  com- 
mencing 1802  and  bursting  gloriously  forth  in  181 6.  For  a 
long  time  there  were  only  five  or  six  of  them,  and  they  longed  to 
go  to  England  to  find  Christians,  but  every  Christian  traveller 

warned  them  against  such  a  step.     At  last  Mr.  of  the  Scotch 

Church  came  and  instructed  them  more  fully  in  the  Scriptures, 
and  in  the  liberty  of  Christians,  and  that  they  could  separate 
lawfully  from  the  established  church,  which  they  did;   and  then 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO   EUROPE  89 

persecution  arising,  a  noise  was  made — attention  attracted  and 
the  work  went  on.  Mr.  Bost  was  prosecuted  for  attacking  too 
violently  the  other  clergy,  and  was  in  danger  of  six  months'  im- 
prisonment and  2000  francs'  fine;  but  the  Lord  preserved  him. 

The  people  over  whom  he  has  now  been  settled  for  sixteen 
months  and  among  whom  he  says  he  can  perceive  a  gentle  move- 
ment of  intelligence  and  good  wishes — are  as  ignorant  as  beasts. 
Even  the  few  whose  hearts  are  no  doubt  right  in  the  sight  of  God 
are  exceedingly  deficient  in  Christian  intelligence.  For  the 
rest,  they  are  besotted: — "I  doubt  sometimes,"  said  he,  "whether 
they  have  souls."  I  was  amazed  and  no  doubt  looked  my  amaze- 
ment at  such  an  expression  from  a  Christian  minister,  but  he 
continued — ^no  doubt  they  have  the  seeds  of  souls — but  unde- 
veloped. Their  intelligence  is  all  animal — instinctive.  (What  he 
meant  by  the  seeds  of  souls  undeveloped  I'm  sure  I  can't  tell.) 
What  is  to  be  done  with  such  a  people,  I  asked.  Speak  to  them 
like  thunder — said  he.  .  .  . 

And  he  told  his  daughter  ...  a  long  story  in  French  how  he 
had  asked  them  what  God  was  (or  something  like  that,  I  did  not 
understand  his  story  very  well),  and  they  answered  that  they 
didn't  know,  they  thought  the  sun  was  God!  "Yes,"  said  he, 
turning  to  me,  "  a  good  many  of  them  think  the  sun  is  God, — 
ah,  they  are  heathens — heathens!" 

These  kind  people,  Pastor  Bost  and  his  family,  insisted 
on  my  father's  staying  with  them  over  night,  and  made 
him  so  much  at  home  among  them  that  he  ever  after  felt 
the  warmest  affection  for  any  one  of  the  name  of  Bost, 
and  the  friendship  has  continued  until  the  present  day 
between  our  two  families.  They  were  a  very  musical  house- 
hold. The  lovely  daughter  was  a  beautiful  musician.  I  con- 
tinue to  copy  a  little  more  from  the  description  of  this  unex- 
pected visit  among  strangers  in  a  strange  land : — 

It  is  peculiarly  delightful  thus  to  make  a  home  in  a  strange 
land.  After  supper  the  father  and  daughter  sat  down  and  played 
me  several  four-handed  pieces  of  Thalberg  and  Czerny — en- 
thusiastically expressing  their  delight  at  some  of  their  charming 
passages — especially  those  of  the  march  which  I  first  heard  from 
the  trumpet  of  Gambatti  in  New  York, — ten  years  ago.  They 
concluded  with  Rossini's  storm  in  "William  Tell"  and  the  sweet 
Ranz  des  Vaches.     The  feeling  with  which  all  entered  into  the 


90  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  v 

music  and  especially  into  the  Swiss  songs — imitating  with  the 
utmost  vivacity  the  notes  of  the  horn  and  joining  in  low  chorus 
in  the  words — and  the  soul  energy  of  the  father,  a  master  on  the 
piano,  and  a  composer  himself, — whose  music  is  now  sung  by 
the  heathens  in  S.  Africa — was  charming.  At  parting  he  gave 
me  a  copy  of  his  Cantiques  de  I'Apocalypse. 

They  pressed  me  to  stay  again  the  night  with  them,  but  I 
declined — they  however  urged  me  and  assured  me  I  should  not 
be  too  late  in  the  morning.  So  we  all  sat  down  around  the  table, 
on  which  lay  a  kind  of  reprint  of  the  penny  magazine — the  only 
periodical  they  take — and  talked  and  laughed  till  ten  o'clock, 
when  bread  and  butter  were  brought  in  for  the  father  who  said  he 
must  always  eat  after  an  idle  evening.  I  love  to  recall  the  little 
things  that  made  the  visit  so  delightful.  An  artist  must  paint 
leaves,  or  his  trees  will  be  lumps  of  mud  or  blocks  of  stone. 

We  amused  ourselves  greatly  at  his  expense,  over  his  en- 
thusiasm about  the  North  Pole.  "Oh,"  said  he,  "how  I  would 
love  to  be  at  the  North  Pole  for  a  while!  Not  to  turn  when  all 
the  world  turns.  To  have  the  North  Star  right  over  one's  head: — 
to  dwell  in  the  bosom  of  eternal  solitude.  Oh,  it  would  be  glorious. 
I  do  love  solitude,  so  much!  And  they  say,"  he  added,  "that  it 
is  not  colder  at  the  pole  than  within  a  certain  distance  of  it — 
rather  warm  if  anything."  This  last  I  demurred  to,  and  tried 
to  explain  why  the  former  should  be  true,  from  the  size  of  the 
angles  of  the  sun's  rays  subtended  by  chords  of  various  lengths. 
And  he  again  and  again  broke  out — "but,  oh,  how  I  would  like  to 
be  at  the  North  Pole!"  He  said  laughingly  that  he  had  thought 
of  writing  a  volume  of  reflections  upon  such  a  situation  (and 
I  have  no  doubt  it  would  have  been  rich  in  thought  and  racy 
with  poetry),  but  he  had  never  done  so.  I  told  him,  he  might 
obtain  his  desires  more  readily  by  ascending  in  a  balloon;  but 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  exclaimed — "it  is  not  solid — it 
is  not  solid."  He  caught  the  idea  of  the  concave  perspective 
in  an  instant  and  was  pleased  with  it.  "Ah,"  said  he,  "it  must 
be  frightful  to  feel  yourself  standing  still  in  the  air,  and  the  great 
earth  rushing  down,  away  from  under  you — as  they  say  it  seems 
to  do!" 

Conversation  again  turned  upon  the  wretched  state  of  the 
people.  He  said  he  had  been  accustomed  to  preach  against  two 
sorts  of  avarice — the  avarice  of  the  rich  and  the  avarice  of  the 
poor.  When  a  widow  refuses  to  give  her  mite — she's  avaricious. 
"I  tell  the  people,  if  you  won't  give  to  God — God  won't  give  to 
you"; — and  then  he  repeated  the  Hebrew  saying,  that  when  a 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  91 

man  gives  his  handful  to  God — God  returns  him  His  own  hand 
full; — beautiful! — "Ah,  my  dear — my  dear — you  lose  time" — 
he  will  say  to  the  peasants  when  they  work  on  the  Sabbath; — 
"and  they  are  beginning" — he  added — "to  understand  what  I 
mean  by  it."  .  .  . 

With  how  much  regret  did  I  take  leave  of  this  interesting 
family!  receiving  their  blessing  and  good  wishes  and  the  address 
of  their  son  in  Geneva.  To  Timothy  I  gave  my  little  double  lens 
— which  I  thought  he  would  prize  because  it  had  been  my  com- 
panion in  8,000  or  10,000  miles  of  travel  in  America  since  1838. 


After  leaving  these  new  friends,  who  had  made  for  him 
a  social  oasis  in  a  sohtary  tour,  he  went  by  diligence  toward 
Clermont.  He  notes  the  changing  type  of  the  scenery 
and  the  geological  indications.  Sometimes  he  descends 
from  the  coach  and  walks  long  distances,  especially  after 
leaving  Mont  Lufon  and  coming  into  a  more  mountainous 
region  does  he  often  take  short  cuts  on  foot,  observing  and 
studying  the  geology  and  topography  as  he  goes. 

Arrived  at  Clermont  and  visiting  the  cathedral,  he  there 
falls  into  conversation  with  a  young  cure,  "for  I  am  fort- 
unate with  the  priests,"  he  remarks  in  another  place. 

It  was  on  top  of  the  tower  I  met  the  young  cure,  who  told 
me  afterwards  he  had  studied  theology  two  years.  Our  conversa- 
tion turned  at  first,  as  usual,  upon  the  languages  and  I  told  him 
of  the  various  pronunciations  of  ough  in  English.  We  then 
walked  out,  and  finding  to  his  great  surprise  that  I  had  studied 
theology  also,  he  asked  me  if  it  was  my  sincere  conviction  that 
my  religion  was  the  true  one.  One  thing  led  on  to  another. 
After  coming  out  of  the  garden  where  are  the  limestone  rock  and 
house  for  petrifying,  and  cabinet  of  beautiful  little  baskets  of 
flowers  and  nuts  and  husks  and  burrs  and  birds,  etc.,  of  which 
I  bought  a  medal, — we  found  ourselves  sitting  on  a  pile  of  stones 
in  a  narrow  walled  up  lane,  vulgate  in  hand,  and  earnestly  dis- 
puting for  the  faith  on  the  passage  hoc  est  corpus  meum.  I 
had  infinite  difficulty  to  understand  him,  for  he  talked  very  fast 
and  straddled  over  me,  in  his  eagerness  to  convert  me,  putting 
me  in  mind  of  Apollyon  and  the  pilgrim;  but  I  wrong  him  by  the 
comparison  (and  no  doubt  myself  too) — for  he  was  a  gentle 
little  fellow  and  very  kind,  tho'  very  zealous.     I  referred  to  Corin- 


92  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  v 

thians  where  it  says  also  the  cup  is  the  testament,  which  taken 
literally  is  quite  absurd.  Then  we  got  upon  the  four  marks  of 
a  true  church, — and  finding  it  late  returned  hurriedly  to  the  Arche- 
veche,  where  he  was  joined  by  a  brother  cure,  still  younger,  whom 
he  kissed.  The  latter  lisped  a  litde.  After  I  had  dined  I  found 
them  both  on  the  hotel  pavement  and  the  lisper  pressed  me 
warmly  and  told  me  he  hoped  to  see  me  the  next  day  after  my 
return  from  the  Puy  de  Dome.  I  told  the  other  candidly  that 
there  was  but  one  way  of  accounting  for  the  ignorance  and  super- 
stition and  wickedness  of  the  people  in  Catholic  countries.  Their 
religion  leads  down  to  hell  and  is  idolatry.     "  Oh, "  he  exclaimed. 

I  select  a  few  portions  of  the  descriptions  of  his  moun- 
tain climbing  in  the  Puy  de  Dome  region: — 

Aug.  29. — I  am  getting  very  tired  of  travelling;  it  is  hard 
work  and  very  little  pay.  I  am  not  however  to-day  in  a  very 
unprejudiced  state  to  judge,  for  the  ascent  of  a  mountain  of  lava 
six  miles  off,  all  the  way  on  foot  there  and  all  the  way  back,  is 
no  light  excursion.  I  started  this  morning  at  six  o'clock,  getting 
a  bowl  of  milk  in  a  back  street  as  I  went,  and  putting  a  roll  of 
bread  in  my  pocket  in  case  of  need.  Inquiring  the  route,  I  was 
directed  to  leave  the  city  by  a  succession  of  lanes  flanked  with 
stone  walls  without  windows — from  five  and  six  to  twelve  and 
thirteen  feet  high,  and  enclosing  the  gardens  of  the  environs.  .  .  . 

The  ranges  which  I  had  seen  from  the  Cathedral  and  could 
see  no  law  for  them,  now  arranged  themselves  into  spurs  of  the 
table-land  of  basalt  and  lava  around  the  cones,  and  were  nothing 
but  the  remains  of  the  extension  of  that  table -land  into  the  plain 
of  the  Limagne.  .  .  . 

I  thought  that  with  two  eyes — two  mountains  and  a  guide 
book,  I  shouldn't  need  a  guide  to  ascend  a  cone  naked  as  my 
hand  and  smooth  as  a  house  roof,  not  a  mile  distant.  But  I  was 
mistaken.  The  whole  plateau  is  covered  with  a  number  of  roads 
and  cow-tracks,  for  it  is  one  grand  ploughing  and  pasturing  field 
without  an  enclosure  of  any  kind  upon  it,  after  leaving  the  hamlet, 
a  little  distance.  .  .  . 

I  passed  on  and  was  soon  obliged  to  stretch  myself  at  length 
on  the  bluebell  turf,  the  pain  in  my  left  chest  having  come  on 
me,  which  afterwards  increased  to  so  great  and  strange  excess, 
that  I  feared  I  would  have  to  be  carried  home.  Stopping  to  rest 
only  seemed  to  make  it  worse — yet  I  struggled  up  the  ridge.  .  .  . 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  93 

A  boy  came  to  me  as  I  sat — leaving  his  cows  on  the  other 
side,  and  begged  charity;  he  said  he  had  neither  father,  mother, 
brothers  nor  sisters — and  kept  the  cows  on  the  mountains  in 
summer,  but  went  into  the  villages  in  winter  '■'pour  demander 
son  pain" — to  beg — poor  fellow.  I  gave  him  my  pocket  full  of 
sous  and  made  him  sit  down  to  talk;  asked  him  if  he  ever 
prayed,  could  read,  etc.,  and  made  him  promise  to  repeat  every 
day  the  prayer  of  Mr.  Best's  poor  fellow — "O  Dieu,  donne- 
moi  ton  saint  esprit.'"  He  could  read,  but  never  had  heard  of 
the  Bible.  .  .  . 

...  I  asked  him,  in  reply  to  his  question  where  he  could  get 
one,  if  he  had  never  seen  a  man  in  a  blue  blouse,  with  a  pack  of 
books  on  his  back.  He  said,  yes;  I  told  him  to  apply  the  next 
time  to  him  for  one  and  my  last  words  as  we  parted  on  the  chaus- 
see,  were,  probably  in  as  bad  French  as  his  own — ''  obtiens  Pun 
et  le  lisez."    Poor  creatures.  .  .  . 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  though  I  speak  of  lava,  that  one  would 
ever  suspect  he  was  looking  down  upon  lava — were  he  not  in- 
formed of  the  fact.  The  country  is  one  of  singular  features  indeed 
■ — ^but  still  so  sheeted  and  shrouded  in  common  nature  that  the 
imagination  has  much  work  to  do  in  uncovering  and  investigating 
by  occult  signs  the  mysteries  within.  Guide  books  and  geologists 
talk  of  craters  and  cones,  scoria,  basalt,  lava  plains,  waves  and 
currents  and  all  that;  but  to  an  ordinary  spectator  nothing  more 
appears  than  rather  steep  and  isolated  mountains — and  a  wide 
plain  covered  with  flowery  furze  and  ploughed  like  any  other — 
with  its  black  soil  manured  from  carts  slow  moving  over  the  sur- 
face, drawn  by  oxen  attended  by  broad-hatted  peasants.  He 
sees  irregularities  in  this  plain,  and  that  it  falls  off  towards  the 
east  down  deep  parallel  gorges  between  its  arms,  which  are 
extended  like  ordinary  ranges  of  hills,  and  he  looks  beyond  with 
delight  upon  the  great  plain  deep  sunk  below  and  called,  as  he 
knows,  the  Limagne  of  Auvergne.  "But  where  are  all  these 
lava  currents  they  talk  about?"  he  cries: — "I  don't  see  any  of 
them.  They  tell  me  these  cones  have  once  been  volcanoes: — 
but  there  is  only  one  which  has  anything  like  a  crater,  and  that 
looks  very  much  like  an  ordinary  punch-bowl  hollow  valley, — 
rather  odd,  it  is  true — and  more  so  because  on  top  of  a  moun- 
tain— but  yet  not  so  very  astonishing.  They  say  one  can  trace 
lava  currents  up  to  the  tops  of  these  craters  and  cones: — but  I 
see  nothing  of  the  kind.  They  talk  about  one  great  current — 
stopped  by  a  granite  island  and  divided  into  two  currents,  flow- 
ing one  one  way,  the  other  another,  down  two  lateral  valleys.     But 


94  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  CHAP.  V 

here  is  a  plain,  and  there  a  low  ridge,  and  that  is  all  I  can  make 
out."  And  so  he  goes  on — wholly  at  a  loss  to  understand  the 
great  events  which  he  knows  have  taken  place;  and  obliged  pain- 
fully and  slowly  to  construct  out  of  the  ambiguous  data  before 
him  everything—by  mere  force  of  conception.  He  sees  Auvergne 
with  his  bodily  eyes — but  he  sees  its  geology  and  its  history 
only  with  the  eyes  of  his  imagination.  In  nothing  is  a  traveller 
more  disappointed  than  in  this.  There  are  here  no  roaring  flames 
and  leaping  rocks — no  rivers  of  fire  desolating  the  fertile  valley 
and  spreading  abroad  terror  and  magnificence  upon  the  face  of 
night.  The  exhibition  is  over.  He  looks  on  a  still-Hfe  picture. 
The  battlefield  remains  silent  with  the  carcasses  of  the  dead 
alone  upon  it,  and  he  must  painfully  reconstruct  the  scene,  and 
revivify  it  for  himself.     It  shall  never  live  again.  .  .  . 

Saturday,  August  31,  1844  (Massiac  a  Murat). — ^The  patois 
of  the  people  in  the  mountains  I  cannot  understand.  It  has  all 
the  characteristics  of  the  Welsh,  except  the  //.  It  is  spread  over 
and  round  the  tongue  in  the  same  way  and  sounds  so  much  like 
it  that,  were  I  not  in  Auvergne,  I  would  say  it  was  Welsh  which 
I  listened  to.  It  has  the  two  sounds  th  and  ch  {finals  German) 
so  foreign  to  the  French,  and  like  the  English  of  the  Elizabethan 
and  earlier  ages  ending  its  words  with  the  now  mute  e — as  grand-e; 
un-e;  etc.  It  is  then  a  refinement  of  languages  to  suppress  the 
vowels  ?    It  certainly  shortens  discourse. 

At  eight  o'clock  on  Friday  morning  I  was  seated  in  the  straw 
in  the  seatless  banquette  of  the  great  diligence  now  running  to 
St.  Flour.  The  diligence  to  Murat  on  the  direct  (geological 
and  picturesque)  route  to  Aurillac  going  at  night,  I  would  not 
take  it.  At  six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  I  was  set  down  before 
the  Auberge  at  the  entrance  of  Massiac.  Until  twelve  o'clock 
when  the  heat  became  very  oppressive,  the  wind  coming  along 
with  us,  it  was  a  delightful  ride  up  the  broad  Limagne  and  the 
valley  of  the  AUier.  I  never  saw  a  more  beautiful  agricultural 
country  and  the  ranges  of  basaltic -capped  fresh  water  hills  with 
the  primary  (?)  ridge  in  the  distant  east  made  it  amply  pictur- 
esque. .  .  . 

But  the  chief  charm  was  given  to  the  landscape  by  the  tall 
cliffs  and  peaks  projecting  from  the  table-land  and  capped  by 
horizontal  masses  of  basaltic  lava  all  jagged  and  toothed  by 
time,  until  they  stood  up  a  forest  of  rocky  pinnacles,  and  on 
their  summit  often  stood  some  old  half-ruined  castle,  and  round 
its  walls  a  village.    The  habits  of  the  feudal  ages  are  retained 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO   EUROPE  95 

under  the  reign  of  the  King  of  the  French.  The  villages  that 
fled  to  the  mountain  tops,  to  the  castle  walls  of  their  seigneurs 
for  protection,  have  not  yet  all  come  down.  Ten  or  twenty  such 
shine  distinctly  from  the  summits  and  at  the  tops  of  the  slopes 
of  the  Auvergnian  mountains,  along  this  single  valley — and  some 
of  them  seem  large  enough  to  have  20,000  inhabitants.  And  in 
this  one  day's  ride  and  one  day's  walk — of  60  miles,  I  have  seen 
as  many  castles  as  in  all  my  journey — I  believe, — through  France 
together.  .  .  . 

I  can  obtain  by  personal  inspection  very  little  information 
of  the  geology  of  a  country  so  extended  as  France.  It  is  like 
taking  up  an  interesting  book,  indeed,  to  read  five  lines  on  every 
tenth  page.  I  catch  the  general  style  of  the  earth's  great  Author 
in  this  one  of  his  works, — the  subject  at  least  of  which  he  treats; 
— it  is  useful: — but  it  is  not  half  so  pleasant  as  one's  imagination 
and  thirst  for  the  evidence  of  the  senses  have  anticipated.  Yet 
very  accurate  ideas  of  a  few  good  types  may  be  obtained — and 
what  is  far  better,  those  vague,  enormous,  monstrous  imagin- 
ings may  be  reduced  and  unclouded,  and  a  way  be  prepared  for 
a  happier  and  more  successful  return  to  the  books  which  treat 
in  detail  of  the  geology  of  the  various  parts.  .  .  . 

Descending  the  zigzags  to  Massiac,  we  met  also  many  groups 
— men  and  women  in  carts — women  on  ass-back,  astraddle, 
between  the  panniers ; — men  and  their  red-cheeked  wives  on  one 
horse — old  fashion; — and  many  groups  and  strings  of  girls  with 
baskets  in  their  hands  and  crimson  in  their  faces,  some  of  them 
exceedingly  pretty  and  coquettish  withal — to  whom  our  driver 
had  for  every  one  a  word  and  a  nod.  But  after  the  many-colored 
dresses  they  wore  and  the  little  flocks  of  sheep  and  pigs  which 
they  drove  before  them — what  invested  the  scene  with  its  chief 
singularity  was  the  remarkable  and  very  ludicrous  kind  of  bonnet 
worn  by  the  women.  It  is  straw,  often  with  a  ribbon  or  a  string 
about  it,  and  just  stuck  on  the  head  and  let  fly  as  straw  will  in  the 
most  absurd  deshabille  imaginable.  But  the  young  girls  all  had 
theirs  trimmed  around  the  edge  with  black  ribbon  pleated  and 
sewed  round.  .  .  . 

On  the  way  just  after  I  had  sketched  the  above,  the  musician 
with  his  cornemuse  or  bagpipe  joined  me  and  I  had  much  relig- 
ious conversation  with  him.  He  had  travelled  as  far  as  Madrid 
and  Milan,  playing  for  dances,  etc.,  in  the  winter  taking  his  ass 
and  becoming  a  merchant  of  handkerchiefs  from  village  to  village, 
except  for  the  two  months  of  the  most  rigorous  weather.  He 
could  therefore  not  only  speak  the  patois  (and  indeed  acted  the 


96  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  v 

interpreter  for  me  in  several  cases,  especially  with  the  old  women 
where  I  ate  my  second  breakfast),  but  he  could  also  talk  pretty 
good  French,  so  that  I  had  little  difficulty  in  understanding  him. 
He  said  he  confessed  only  once  a  year  perhaps — and  smiled  when 
he  said  it.  Pointing  to  a  little  church  down  by  the  side  of  the 
water,  200  feet  below  us,  he  said  there  was  a  famous  place  of  de- 
votion and  many  miracles  were  wrought  there.  It  was  built 
by  the  English,  he  said,  when  they  had  possession  of  the  country. 
I  told  him  I  did  not  believe  in  modern  miracles,  but  he  assured 
me  he  knew  one  young  man  whose  arm  had  been  useless  twenty 
years,  who  had  had  it  restored  "whole  like  the  other"  by  one 
day's  devotion  in  the  little  church.  I  shrugged  my  shoulders 
and  was  silent,  simply  saying  "les  pretres  sont  tres  sages.''  He 
seemed  to  understand  and  acquiesce  in  all  the  charges  I  brought 
against  them,  and  to  apprehend  also  my  definition  of  a  true 
Christian,  soii  il  Catholique,  soit  il  Protestant,  and  said  our  relig- 
ion was  bonne,  trh  bonne. 


Other  similar  talks  with  fellow-travellers  follow,  ending 
with  the  remark: — 

There  is  a  great  charm  to  me  in  such  conversations.  I 
fathom  an  unknown  sea, — I  geologize  in  the  souls  of  my 
fellowmen,  I  read  universal  laws  by  multitudes  of  divine  phe- 
nomena. .  .  . 

I  say  France  has  two  engagements  at  present — Religion  and 
War.  The  Jesuits  have  returned  and  openly  operate.  M.  Bost 
gave  me  a  little  pamphlet  in  which  he  answers  a  calumnious 
piece  in  the  papers — occasioned  by  the  preacher  of  Lent's  refusal 
to  give  him  an  opportunity  in  a  public  conference,  to  support 
the  truth  of  the  Protestant  behef,  which  the  preacher  had  a  month 
before  in  his  Lenten  sermon  vehemently  attacked. 

But  war!  The  papers  are  crowded  with  news,  speculations 
and  what  not  from  the  seat  of  war  in  Morocco.  The  late  victory 
at  Isly  (or  some  such  name)  by  which  the  army  of  the  emperor 
was  routed  and  all  his  cannon  taken  is  glorified  day  after  day  as 
if  it  were  a  Marengo  or  an  Austerlitz.  No  one  in  America  can 
understand  or  conceive  of  the  language  used  in  the  war  papers 
(i.e.  the  opposition  papers)  about  the  war.  This  is  a  little  matter, 
as  to  French  policy,  altho'  it  makes  the  Christian  shudder  and 
sigh  to  see  such  blindness  fall  upon  a  nation.  A  people  whom 
I  believe  to  be  as  cowardly  except  in  moments  of  enthusiasm, 


I 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO   EUROPE  97 

as  they  are  bloodthirsty  in  moments  of  rage,  present  the  singular 
spectacle  of  a  people  bragging  over  and  challenging  the  whole 
world.  .  .  . 

But  how  is  this  now  apparent?  They  hate  England.  No 
one  can  conceive  of  the  extent  and  the  rancor  of  their  irritation 
against  England — who  has  not  gone  amongst  them.  One  might 
suppose  the  papers  were  full  of  it  for  political  purposes  merely — 
but  let  him  travel  in  France  and  he  will  find,  whatever  be  the 
personal  designs  of  the  editors  of  La  Steele — their  language 
answers,  word  for  thought,  with  the  cherished  malice  and  deadly 
enmity  of  the  whole  population  towards  their  nobler  neighbors. 
And  he  will  find  too,  that,  as  in  America,  the  backwoodsman 
grasps  his  rifle  and  says  "let  the  British  come;  we'll  give  it  to 
them,"  so  it  is  in  the  interior  that  the  thirst  se  battre  les  anglais, 
reaches  its  acme.  Surely  it  is  because  they  are  not  known: 
because  ignorance  sleeps  heavily  on  all  the  souls  of  middle  France. 
Surely  it  is  because  the  priests  of  Rome  hate  and  fear  the  mission- 
aries of  London.  Surely  it  is  because  French  peasants  are  brutes. 
I  am  amazed — and  can  no  longer  restrain  my  fear  that,  let  Louis 
PhiHppe  and  M.  Guizot,  Lord  Aberdeen  and  Sir  Robt.  Peel  do 
what  they  will  to  keep  the  peace, — war  is  inevitable  in  Europe, 
and — O  God,  what  then?    Thou  knowest. 

Italy  and  Greece  are  in  great,  invisible  emotion.  Spain  is 
yet  quivering  in  all  her  members.  France  thirsts  for  war — 
and  burns  to  wipe  out  the  fancied  disgrace  of  Waterloo,  by  crush- 
ing her  best  friend  (if  she  did  but  know  it).  Ireland  only  waits 
and  pants  for  war  between  England  and  France,  to  massacre 
her  Saxon  oppressors  and  establish  a  parliament  (a  King?)  in 
College  Green.  In  the  Hungarian  diet  a  seigneur  speaks  openly 
of  revolt  if  Austria  continues  her  exactions.  Russia  winters 
her  fleet,  not  as  usual  at  Cronstadt,  but  at  Elsinne,  ready  for  the 
first  breath  of  spring.  Holland  and  Belgium  are  two  spiders 
in  a  bottle,  and  poor  Germany  is  a  bunch  of  grapes  in  the  centre 
of  a  circle  of  foxes.    What  is  coming  ? 

After  a  long  description  of  an  ascent  of  the  Puy  de 
Guion,  he  continues: — 

Sabbath,  September  2,  1844  (Murat  to  Vic). —  ...  As  I  went 
on  towards  Thiezac  the  road  became  more  and  more  beautiful, 
and  continued  a  succession  of  cliffs  above,  precipices  below,  fan- 
tastically shaped  rocks  of  all  sizes,   slopes  of  pasture,  groves. 


98 


LIFE  AND   LETTERS 


CHAP,  V 


ravines,  bridges,  terraces,  villages  and  chateaux,  in  a  series  which 
ended  only  to  expand  upon  the  richer  and  wider  portion  of  the 
valley  below  the  town  of  Vic,  where  I  spent  the  night.  Here  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life  I  struck  a  billiard  ball.  .  .  . 

Sept.  3. — ^A  few  miles  below  Vic  I  sketched  the  picturesque 
chateau  of  Polmistac  [opposite  leaf],  but  very  unsuccessfully. 
As  an  amateur  I  select  scenes  rich  and  heavy  in  foliage,  but  as 
an  artist  these  are  just  the  ones  I  should  avoid,  and  fix  upon 
wide  scenes,  naked  slopes,  sharp  peaks,  etc.    Still  these  rude 


Chateau  one  Mile  below  Vic 


sketches  may  fall  into  the  hands  of  some  one  who  can  work  up 
the  outlines  of  beautiful  thoughts,  and  give  light  and  shade  to 
all  the  foliage. 

At   Montauban   he   visited   the    Protestant    pastor   M. 
Monod,  and  was  received  cordially  by  him  and  his  house- 
hold. 

Thursday,  Sept.  5,  1844. — Before  taking  the  diligence  for 
Toulouse,  I  called  again  on  Mr.  Felice  and  his  family,  and  was 
most  affectionately  received  and  dismissed.  He  accompanied 
me  to  the  outer  gate  and  wished  me  the  favor  and  presence  of 
the  Lord,  and  then  made  me  kiss  him  on  both  cheeks  according 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO   EUROPE  99 

to  the  fashion  of  the  country.  He  gave  me  also  a  letter  to  the 
two  or  three  brothers,  Courtois  of  Toulouse,  head  of  the  little 
Protestant  communion  there;  and  also  the  address  of  Mrs.  F.'s 
father's  family  at  Lausanne.  .  .  . 

...  A  ride  of  four  hours  over  the  almost  dead  level 
of  the  diluvial  valley  brought  us  into  Toulouse. 

...  I  then  after  going  for  a  while  into  the  immense,  Norman 
Chm^ch  of  St.  Servin,  made  my  way  along  for  half  a  mile  through 
the  dark  streets  to  the  rue  de  la  Dolbad  (pronounced  as  in  Welsh 
dolbath,  and  as  in  modern  Greek)  where  I  found  a  reunion  or 
meeting  of  Protestant  Christians  in  a  lower  room  (fitted  up  as 
a  plain  chapel)  of  the  house  of  MM.  Courtois.  I  stood  outside 
for  some  time  talking  French  ( ?)  with  two  women  about  the  Abbe 
Muret  (Maurette),  one  of  whom  told  me  she  had  been  a  Catholic 
10  or  15  years  back  and  had  talked  with  M.  Malan  of  Geneva. 
She  was  an  exceedingly  interesting  woman  about  thirty  (?)  and 
seemed  to  be  very  proud  of  her  recollections  of  the  great  and 
good  " Chretien"  M.  Malan.  .  .  . 

After  a  service  of  an  horn*,  during  which  a  bench  full  of  boys 
troubled  us  a  good  deal,  sitting  right  before  me  and  loving  to 
torment  us, — and  after  a  hymn  and  prayer  and  pretty  long  ad- 
dress by  M.  Courtois  and  a  short  but  home -thrust  address  and 

prayer  by  M.  ,  a   large  man,  I  gave  my  letter  and  was 

invited  upstairs  to  tea.  .  .  . 

I  conversed  with  the  two  brothers  on  the  affairs  of  the  French 
Church  and  then  on  the  dangers  of  German  philosophy  (with 
which  he  says  many  of  their  theological  students  have  been 
injured)  until  ten  o'clock. 

The  troubles  of  the  Protestants  are  most  serious.  Not  one 
of  them  knows  how  long  he  will  be  out  of  prison,  since  the  plan 
now  is  to  prosecute  for  the  books  they  publish.  The  Abbe  M. 
is  now  in  prison  for  twelve  months  for  his  little  work  against 
the  Cathohcs — condemned  for  "attacking  one  of  the  estab- 
lished religions  of  the  state."  Yet  a  Papist  may  say  what  he 
will  against  them.  Reverend  M.  Roussel  with  whom  is  con- 
nected that  interesting  conversion  of  a  whole  parish  near  Limoges 
of  800  people,  and  which  has  driven  the  clergy  mad,  is  now  pros- 
ecuted for  publishing  Middleton's  (?)  "Pagan  Rome."  Yet  it 
is  the  tenth  edition.  Still  the  law  is  that  each  edition  is  liable 
to  attack  for  the  first  six  months  of  its  appearance — after  that 
it  is  free.  Yet  the  next  edition,  of  which  two  copies  are  again 
sent  to  the  bureau,  is  open  to  the  same  process. 


lOO  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  v 

And  much  more  about  the  condition  of  rehgion  in 
France. 

The  pecuHarity  of  Toulousan  architecture,  I  take  to  be,  an 
inordinate  love  of  the  arch — the  round  arch.  It  occurs  every- 
where. Private  houses  have  their  doors  and  v^^indows  included 
in  arcades  sunk  in  the  front,  and  running  from  the  ground  where 
the  second-story  window  leads.  Above  the  facades — in  many 
houses  along  the  quais  below  the  bridge,  I  saw  upper  little  stories 
like  fly-traps — and  standing  separately  like  dormant  windows 
on  the  houses.     Very  odd. 

After  leaving  the  region  of  the  volcanic  mountains  of 
Auvergne,  he  had  continued  south-eastward  to  the  Pyrenees 
by  way  of  Montauban,  Toulouse,  and  Tarbes  to  Bagneres- 
de-Bigorre.  His  memory  of  the  beauty  of  this  country 
and  the  wonderful  views  of  the  mountains  remained  with 
him  always,  and  he  often  referred  to  those  few  days  of 
climbing  their  sides.  The  chmax  of  this  part  of  his  journey 
was  an  expedition  to  the  Lac  d'Oo,  a  little  lake  situated 
high  up  in  the  mountains,  surrounded  by  precipices, — a 
most  romantic  spot.  But  his  minute  description  of  this 
ascent,  which  he  accomplished  alone  and  on  foot,  is  too 
long  to  print.     Speaking  of  it  at  the  time,  he  writes: — 

Sept.  9,  '44. — I  have  passed  through,  in  this  two  days'  walk, 
the  finest  parts  of  the  Pyrenees,  and  seen  a  variety  of  their  aspects. 
The  beautifully  pastoral  vale  of  the  Adour,  the  magnificent  pan- 
orama of  the  Col  d'Aspin,  the  narrow  head  of  the  Vallee  de 
Loudun,  the  gorge,  the  precipice,  the  lakes  and  the  mountain 
peaks  of  Oo,  and  the  remarkable  traverse  of  the  Arboust  Valley 
down  to  Luchon.  To  describe  it  in  detail  would  demand  a 
dozen  pages. 

Of  the  people  he  says : — 

As  I  approached  the  Pyrenees  I  remarked  a  great  change 
for  the  better  in  the  aspect  of  the  people.  They  are  here  a  noble 
race; — men  and  women  have  the  very  finest  features — often  very 
handsome,  but  rather  too  strongly  marked  to  be  called  beautiful. 
Erect — ^robust — quick-eyed — their  eyes  bright,  full  and  black — 


i844  FIRST  TRIP  TO  EUROPE  loi 

rich  curly  hair — and  often  swarthy — they  put  me  strongly  in 
the  faith  of  their  Visigoth  origin  and  Spanish  amalgamation. 
Yet  ascending  the  valley  I  also  saw  many  wretched  specimens 
of  humanity.  The  has  peuple  here  seem  as  everywhere  else  in 
France  to  be  stunted,  shrunken,  shrivelled,  blackened  and  crip- 
pled. While  the  young  have  all  the  elasticity  and  beauty  befit- 
ting youth,  the  aged  exhibit  the  evidences  of  a  hard  life  of  con- 
stant and  destructive  toil  and  deep,  lifelong  poverty. 

From  the  Lac  d'Oo  he  went  by  way  of  Toulouse,  Car- 
cassonne, Montpellier,  Nimes,  Alais,  Aries,  Avignon,  Valence, 
and  Grenoble  to  Geneva,  where  he  remained  some  days. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Switzerland  and  Germany 

Theological  Studies 

During  his  short  stay  in  Geneva  he  was  much  occupied 
with  hearing  lectures  and  talking  with  several  notable  Swiss 
divines,  chief  among  these  Cassar  Malan  and  Merle 
d'Aubigny  *  They  received  him  kindly,  and  M.  Malan 
made  him  much  at  home  among  his  family. 

Geneva,  Oct.  6. —  ...  I  went  at  two  o'clock  to  the  Oratoire  in 
the  upper  town.  It  seemed  to  be  a  new  building.  Here  I  met 
the  theological  class  of  perhaps  twenty  students: — with  the  pre- 
paratory class,  they  make  about  forty  or  forty-five.  We  waited 
half  an  hour  for  M.  Gaussen  (who  looks  exactly  like  his  por- 
traits) during  which  there  was  all  sorts  of  innocent  fun  going  on, 
and  all  the  liveliness  of  French  conversation  in  full  play.  I  felt 
much  at  home  among  them,  and  seemed  to  recognize  some  famil- 
iar face  whichever  way  I  turned.  I  could  perceive  no  difference 
between  them  and  those  I  had  left  at  Princeton.  The  same 
variety  of  expression  of  apparent  intellect — of  apparent  dispo- 
sition; and  neither — on  the  whole — better  nor  worse. 

*  Cesar  Henri  Abraham  Malan,  D.D.,  clergyman  and  author,  born 
at  Geneva,  Switzerland,  July  7,  1787,  of  French  Protestant  descent;  was 
bred  a  Socinian,  and  ordained  in  1810;  became  a  Trinitarian  under  the 
guidance  of  Robert  Haldane  and  of  Rev.  Dr.  John  M.  Mason  of  New 
York,  and  was  (1820-63)  the  pastor  of  an  independent  church  at  Geneva. 
His  sect  was  called  Momiers  (Comedians)  by  the  people.  He  was  the 
author  of  many  religious  works.  His  h3mins,  Les  Chants  de  Sion  (1826, 
with  original  music  1841)  and  Les  Grains  de  Seneve  (1846),  are  noteworthy. 
Many  of  his  works  have  been  translated  into  English.  Died  in  Geneva 
May  18,  1864.  See  his  life  by  his  son  Cesar  (Geneva,  1869).  (From  the 
Universal  Cyclopedia.) 

Jean  Henri  Merle  d'Aubigny.  Born  at  Eaux-Vives,  near  Geneva, 
August  16,  1794;  died  at  Geneva  October  20,  1872.  A  celebrated  Swiss 
Protestant  church  historian,  after  1830  professor  of  historical  theology  at 
the  ficole  de  Theologie  fivangelique  at  Geneva.  He  wrote  "Histoire  de 
la  reformation,"  continued  in  "Histoire  de  la  reformation  au  temps  de 
Calvin,"  etc.     {From  Century  Cyclopedia.) 


i844  SWITZERLAND   AND   GERMANY  103 

After  M.  Gaussen  had  lectured  half  an  hour  on  Theopneusty 
he  was  interrupted  by  the  calling  of  somebody  up  the  stairs  to 
say  that  M.  Merle  waited. 

M.  Merle  d'Aubigny— far  from  being  a  pleasant-looking 
or  pleasant-spoken  man — with  a  long  face  and  heavy  eyebrows, 
and  dark  in  visage  and  commanding  in  form — gave  an  opening 
lecture  on  Homiletics,  describing  the  difference  between  Chris- 
tian oratory  and  Demosthenic  and  Forensic. 

I  did  not  address  either  professor,  but  a  student  offered 
me  his  conduct  to-morrow  evening  to  M.  Merle. 

At  seven  I  waited  at  Dr.  Malan's — he  was  visiting  the  sick 
and  Mrs.  M.  entertained  me  for  a  while.  .  ,  . 

As  before,  the  supper  table  was  charming,  and  the  conversation 
almost  wholly  in  English  (one  of  the  sons  is  at  present  in  Plymouth 
for  his  health — spending  a  few  weeks).  But  my  time  came 
afterwards.  The  Dr.,  on  rising,  drew  me  into  a  corner  on  the 
sofa  and  began,  as  he  expressed  it,  to  hunt  the  fox — and  expurge 
the  Arminianism — the  American  venom  as  he  loved  to  call  it 
— which  he  had  been  sure  was  in  me.  In  three  minutes  he 
wound  me  up  completely,  and  I  didn't  know  what  to  say.  His 
plan  was  to  stick  his  finger  just  under  my  sore  rib — what  is  faith  ? 
and  he  showed  how  Arminian  I  was — /  the  ultra-Calvinist — the 
fatalist  whilom.  And  thus  you  think  you  will  go  to  heaven! 
Why?  Because  Christ  died.  For  whom?  for  all  believers. 
Bah! — There  is  your  Arminian: — it's  not  true.  .  .  .  Christ  did 
not  die  for  believers,  but  for  sinners. 

Oct.  10. — Leaving  the  church,  I  went  out  to  call  on  Prof. 
Merle,  and  we  had  a  half-hour's  chat  together.  He  said  I  had 
better  see  Tholuck  at  Halle,  because  he  would  be  interested  in 
my  object,  and  might  effect  for  me  a  good  location  in  Berlin  in 
a  family.  He  also  gave  me  the  names  of  some  places  on  my 
route  thither,  of  interest.  .  .  .  And  some  detail  of  the  religious  oper- 
ations of  Schleiermacher,  who  tho'  approaching  nearest  Hegel 
twenty  years  ago,  was  nevertheless  the  deadly  enemy  and  exe- 
cutioner of  the  vulgar  Rationalism  of  Germany.  Before  that 
the  cry  was,  Christianity  is  contrary  to  Reason.  He  advanced 
a  step  by  saying  it  was  all  from  reason.  I  told  him  about  Camp- 
bellism,  and  he  concluded  it  was  much  the  same  with  the  Socin- 
ianism  of  Geneva.  The  people  here  say,  it  is  enough  to  lead 
a  moral  life  and  believe  that  Jesus  is  the  Son  of  God.  Some  are 
Arians,  some  Semi-Arians,  some  Socinians, — all  hate  creeds  (as 
do  the  Campbellites) ;  and  so  strong  is  this  hatred  among  them 


104  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vi 

that  it  has  issued  from  them  and  affected  even  Christians  who 
come  also  to  dislike  creeds,  altho'  in  all  other  respects  they  think 
prudently  and  well.  .  .  . 

Leaving  Geneva  October  12,  he  went  by  way  of  Vevey 
and  Berne  to  Basle,  where  he  visited  the  schools. 

Tuesday,  October  15,  1844  (Basle). —  ...  I  chanced  to  go  into 
the  school-room  opposite  the  church,  and  soon  had  my  hands 
full,  and  business  for  three  hours,  for  a  little  fellow  was  sent 
to  take  me  to  the  gymnasium  or  public  school  next  door,  and 
the  rector  handed  me  over  to  a  teacher  who  spoke  English  fluently. 
From  nine  to  ten,  I  went  from  room  to  room,  from  the  first  or 
smallest  class  to  the  sixth  or  most  advanced — both  those  of 
humanists  and  those  of  realists.  The  humanists  are  boys  who 
study  classics — the  realists  do  not.  .  .  . 

The  principle  is  that  the  younger  classes  shall  commit  much 
to  memory,  and  the  elder  reason  much.  Again — that  the  author- 
ity of  the  masters  shall  not  be  acquired  by  conflict,  but  be  estab- 
Hshed  by  law.  This  is  a  point  much  overlooked  in  America, 
where  democracy  has  reduced  to  a  level  master  and  pupils — 
and  what  power  he  has  over  them  he  has  obtained  by  the  force 
of  his  own  character.  Here  authority  is  acknowledged — estab- 
lished— firm;  and  so  the  master  may  descend  to  his  lowest  pupil 
without  fear,  and  may,  as  they  do,  call  upon  the  scholars  to 
observe  and  signify  mistakes  committed  by  them,  that  they  may 
obtain  redress.  Hence  the  most  perfect  subordination  obtains; 
and  also  confidence,  for  confidence  is  reposed  in  them.  Nothing 
delighted  me  more  than  to  see  the  perfect  freedom  and  careless- 
ness with  which  at  recess  time  the  scholars  clustered  round  the 
teacher's  desk,  ran  about  the  room,  up  and  down  stairs,  making 
just  what  noise  they  pleased — for  they  were  a  goodly  number — 
and  exhibiting  all  that  security  which  a  child  feels  in  the  presence 
of  a  loving  parent.  .  .  . 

My  informant  gave  several  little  errands  to  the  boys,  and 
said  that  they  loved  dearly  to  oblige  their  teachers  in  any  way 
and  would  study  harder  and  more  cheerfully  after  it. 

He  then  had  me  to  a  distant  part  of  the  city,  to  the  mission 
house,  which  I  so  much  desired  to  see.  He  was  master  there; 
one  of  three  masters.  . . . 


i844  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  105 

He  went  from  Basle  by  way  of  Strasburg,  Frankfort -on- 
Main,  and  Eisenach  to  Gotha.  He  visits  the  chamber 
of  Luther,  and,  after  describing  it,  adds:— 

But  what  interested  me  more  than  anything  in  the  room  was 
a  picture  of  Luther's  mother,  on  one  side  of  the  wall,  and  a  pict- 
ure of  his  father  on  the  other  side.  Both  as  ugly  as  if  the  earth 
was  to  be  peopled  with  ogres.  But  the  father's  forehead  and 
determined  look  and  strong  shrivelled  chin  told  of  young  Luther's 
in  a  way  not  to  be  mistaken.  Yet  I  have  seen  just  such  ugly 
little  obstinate-looking,  half-cunning,  half-confiding  Dutchmen 
more  than  once.  What  became  of  their  young  Luthers?  Ah 
— it  is  not  the  i6th  Century.  God  does  not  need  just  such  for  just 
such  purposes  now.  Wait  till  the  circle  returns — there  will  be 
another  old  Luther  and  another  young  one.  .  .  . 

He  went  by  Weimar  and  Leipsic  to  Halle,  which  he 
reached  October  24,  and  after  consultation  with  Professor 
Tholuck  he  decided  here  to  remain  to  prosecute  his  theo- 
logical studies  and  perfect  his  German.  The  five  or  six 
months  which  he  spent  at  Halle  were  a  notable  part  of  his 
life,  and  I  shall  quote  more  at  length  from  this  portion  of  the 
journal. 

Evening,  Oct.  24. — Five  o'clock  called  on  Prof.  Tholuck.*  A 
most  ungainly,  awkward  man.  He  came  into  the  room,  with 
his  elbows  out  sideways  behind,  and  stuck  his  face  into  mine 
as  if  he  were  scared  to  death  by  an  apparition  and  wanted  in- 
stantly to  relieve  himself  by  discovering  its  nature.  This  arose, 
as  I  soon  learned,  from  his  excessive  near-sightedness,  but  it 
exhibits  itself  also — his  awkwardness — in  ways  not  so  easily 
explained.     For  instance  he  sits  and  talks  with  one,  swaying  his 

*  Friedrich  August  Gotttreu  Tholuck.  Born  at  Breslau,  Prussia, 
March  30,  1799:  died  at  Halle,  Prussia,  June  10,  1877.  A  German  Prot- 
estant theologian  and  preacher,  professor  of  theology  at  Halle  from  1826. 
He  was  educated  at  Breslau  and  Berlin,  where  he  was  appointed  professor 
(extraordinary)  in  1823.  His  works  include  "Die  Lehre  vom  Sunder  und 
Versohner"  ("The  Doctrine  of  the  Sinner  and  Redemption"),  "Stunden  der 
Andacht"  ("Hours  of  Devotion,"  1840),  commentaries  on  Romans,  John, 
the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  Hebrews,  and  Psalms,  an  answer  to  Strauss's 
"Leben  Jesu"  (" Glaubwiirdigkeit  der  evangelischen  Geschichte,"  1837), 
" Vorgeschichte  des  Rationalismus"  (1853-62),  "Geschichte  des  Rationalis- 
mus"  (1865),  etc.     {From  Century  Cyclopedia.) 


io6  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vi 

body  to  and  fro,  and  rubbing  his  knees  all  the  time  until  one  is 
in  a  fit  of  nervous  irritability.  But — these  are  specks  in  the  sun — 
specks  rather  on  its  serene  surface.  What  if  a  man  has  freckles 
on  his  skin? 

I  shall  probably  learn  more  about  him  soon,  but  only  say 
now  that  he  is  described  as  being  an  exceedingly  active  Christian, 
always  busy  for  his  Master  and  his  cause — has  students  at  his 
table,  at  his  walks  and  in  every  way  interests  himself  in  them, 
speaking  most  practically  to  them  on  all  occasions. 

.  .  .  The  reasons  for  my  remaining  here  would  be  that  it  is 
more  easy  to  acquire  intimate  acquaintance  with  people  here,  be- 
cause they  are  not  so  busy.  Students  are  numerous  and  accessible 
here,  and  from  them  one  must  hope  most  in  the  way  of  acquiring 
language.  It  is  cheaper — a  student  being  able  to  live  comfortably 
for  200  Thaler  a  year  (says  Professor  Tholuck). 

Oct.  25. — Was  taken  by  Mr.  Lyman  to  see  M.  Roby,  and  in 
the  afternoon  attended  three  lectures.  Tholuck  on  Introduction 
two  o'clock,  somebody  on  the  French  Revolution  at  three,  and 
another  on  Logic  at  four.  They  stayed  to  hear  the  same  on  the 
history  of  Philosophy  at  five. 

Government  has  built  a  huge  square  house  with  a  covered 
court  in  the  centre,  up  which  goes  the  great  staircase,  and  around 
it  galleries, — around  which  are  the  spacious  lecture-rooms,  in 
use  every  hour  of  the  day  by  some  one  or  other  of  the  seventy 
professors  to  some  or  other  of  the  700  students.  As  the  students 
strive  to  get  near  seats,  the  rooms  are  filled  before  the  time.  At 
the  end  of  three-quarters  of  an  hour  the  professors  run  out  and 
the  students  follow — some  home — others  to  promenade  in  the 
galleries  until  the  commencement  of  the  next  hour.  I  can  now 
understand  how  it  is  some  German  students  hear  eight  hours  of 
lecture  in  the  day.    These  intermissions  are  invaluable. 

A  pastor's  wife  (widow),  may  take  me  [as  boarder],  but  must 
wait  the  return  of  her  daughter  from  Magdeburg — and  moreover 
fears  for  her  husband's  oil  paintings.  But  I  happily  am  no 
smoker. 

Here  I  suppose  must  end  my  Journal;  past  source  of  an- 
noyance; future  source  of  regret  and  pleasure.  Were  it  worse 
written  I  could  burn  it;  were  it  better  it  would  be  worth  pre- 
serving. As  it  is,  it  is  a  monument  of  an  ineflfectual  search  after 
truth;  of  vain  wanderings  with  shut  ears  among  the  noisiest 
crowd  in  the  universe — a  crowd  of  mankind;  a  monument  of 
wasted  time  impossible  to  redeem,  altho'  attempted;    misused 


1844  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  1O7 

opportunities  turned  executioners  when  wooed  as  friends.  A 
monument  of  insufficient  reading,  narrow  generalizations,  im- 
perfect observations;  also  a  monument  of  struggles  after  the 
half  gained,  of  hopes  half  realized,  of  shackles  loosened  if  not 
unboimd;  above  all  of  mercies  experienced,  and  faith  confirmed. 
May  God  bless  the  future,  and  give  it  a  better  joiurnal  than  the 
past  has  had.    Amen. 

In  spite  of  this  rather  solemn  farewell  to  his  journal,  my 
father  seems  to  have  continued  it  without  interruption. 
The  following  entry  on  the  same  page  was  made  in  the 
evening  of  the  same  day: — 

Evening,  Oct.  25. — Attended  a  service  of  English  and  Scotch 
at  Dr.  Tholuck's.  Present,  eight  or  nine;  one  a  Scotch  lady, 
Mrs.  T.  is  a  charming  woman. 

Sabbath,  October  27. — Attended  Dr.  Tholuck's  service  in  the 
Dom  Church.  It  was  said  to  be  a  fine  sermon.  The  order  of 
service,  hymns,  etc.,  were  handed  to  us  by  ushers  at  the  doors. 
Most  of  the  strait  nave  (same  height  as  the  aisles,  and  no  clere- 
story of  course)  was  pewed  for  women.  Some  men  sat  near  the 
pulpit.  The  most  of  the  men  stood  in  the  aisle  in  front  of  little 
watch-houses  set  in  line  against  that  wall,  and  two  stories  high, 
in  which  Mrs.  Tholuck  and  other  ladies  took  their  seats,  and 
might  enjoy  fire.  .  .  . 

Oct.  28 — .  .  .  Every  man  in  Prussia,  not  bed-ridden  or  a 
cripple,  must  carry  arms.  If  students  wish  to  avoid  a  forced 
military  duty  of  two  years,  which  will  rob  them  of  most  of  their 
time  and  subject  them  to  great  hardship,  they  must  volunteer 
for  one  year  and  buy  their  own  accoutrements.  They  are  how- 
ever in  this  case  generally  made  officers  after  the  first  months, 
and  then  can  command  enough  time  to  attend  lectures.  .  .  . 

It  is  very  odd  to  see  six  or  eight  or  ten  of  these  young  men 
in  handsome  undress  uniforms  crowding  into  the  lecture-rooms, 
walking  over  the  benches  to  their  seats,  fixing  their  portfolios 
for  the  lecture,  and  thrusting  their  spiked  horns  into  the  bench 
before  them — with  the  rest.  But  here  all  serve  for  war,  from 
the  prince  to  the  school-boy,  none  is  exempt.  A  grand  parade 
and  review  was  held  here  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  30,000  troops 
deployed.     The  Hussars  cut  a  fine  figure.     The  King,  his  brother 


lo8  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vi 

Generalissimo,  the  King  of  Saxony  and  a  score  of  other  crown 
princes  of  Germany  were  present.  .  .  . 

Oct.   29. — Mr.   ,  who  lectures  on  philosophy,  yesterday 

spoke  of  the  Grecian  philosophy  as  all  childlike,  characterized 
by  the  quiet,  undoubting,  unquarrelling  simplicity  of  childhood. . . . 

When  he  goes  too  fast,  or  when  they  wish  him  to  repeat  or 
when  he  speaks  too  low,  the  students  hiss;  also  when  the  least 
noise  is  made.  It  is  most  amusing  to  see  him  after  the  room  is 
full  and  quiet,  come  scampering  in  and  commence  his  lecture 
without  a  hem  or  a  haw  and  almost  before  he  had  taken  his  seat, 
just  as  if  he  had  but  quitted  his  seat  to  pick  up  his  handkerchief. . . . 

Closed  with  Frau  Criminal  Inspector  Schultze,  at  sixteen 
Thaler  a  month,  washing,  light,  and  fuel  excluded.  "  Two  very 
pleasant  rooms — one  a  little  bedroom,  and  the  other  opening  on 
to  the  garden.  .  .  . 

Calling  on  Mrs.  Tholuck,  I  was  talking  with  her  when  the 
Professor  came  in  with  a  string  of  students,  and  cried  to  me  that 
there  were  two  Nestorians  above,  if  I  wanted  to  see  them.  Two 
Historians,  said  I,  oh,  certainly.  Historians — no,  no,  Nestorians, 
and  they  all  laughed.  And  sure  enough,  upstairs  were  two  Welsh 
missionaries  and  two  Nestorian  big-noses  in  gowns.  I  was  intro- 
duced as  an  American,  and  they  regarded  me  as  I  did  them,  and 
the  East  and  the  West  shook  hands  over  the  table  of  the  centre. 
But  the  air  was  tormented  thereafter.  The  general  conversation 
was  in  German.  The  missionaries  spoke  to  the  Nestorians  in 
Turkish.  Professor  Tholuck  to  the  missionaries  in  Persian  and 
Arabic.  The  missionaries  to  some  one  else  in  French,  and  Tho- 
luck to  me  in  English.  Syriac  was  at  the  disposal  of  the  priest 
and  his  companion,  and  Welsh  and  Italian  at  that  of  the  mission- 
aries. .  .  . 

Oct.  31. — Sent  my  trunk  in  the  morning  by  my  new  Stiefel- 
putzer,  and  went  to  tea  to  Mrs.  Schultze's,  .  .  . 

Nov.  I.— Called  on  Professor  Erdmann*  below  stairs  at  his 
Sprech-stunde  (9-10  a.m.),  and  he  professed  great  pleasure  at 
the  opportunity  for  learning  the  English.  .  .  .  Cold. 

*  Johann  Eduard  Erdmann.  Bom  at  Wolmar,  Livonia,  Russia, 
June  13,  1805:  died  at  Halle,  June,  1892.  A  German  philosopher, 
professor  at  Halle.  He  published  "Versuch  einer  wissenschaftlichen 
Darstellung  der  Geschichte  der  neuern  Philosophie "  (1834-53),  etc.  (Cen- 
tury Cyclopedia.) 


i844  SWITZERLAND   AND   GERMANY  1 09 

Nov.  2.- — .  .  .  I  have  hitherto  spent  my  time  in  earnest  study 
of  OUendorf's  grammar — and  in  some  ludicrous  attempts  at  a 
double  translation  of  Dr.  Malan's  little  book,  "Assurance  of 
Faith,"  into  English  and  German.  .  .  . 

After  describing  a  musical  party,  he  adds: — 

It  is  therefore  as  cheap  as  it  is  a  pleasant  mode  of  public 
recreation  for  a  convivial  people.  Indeed  the  cheapness  and 
simplicity  of  life  here  is  quite  unknown  to  the  mass  of  Americans, 
living  in  cities 

Sabbath,  Nov.  3. — ^Went  in  the  mud  and  came  in  the  rain 
away  from  the  church  on  the  Platz.  .  .  . 

The  preacher  spoke  very  clearly,  so  that  I  understood  half 
what  he  said  at  first.  I  afterwards  learned  that  it  was  the  Ration- 
alist Professor  Francke.  His  subject  was  the  liberty  of  belief, 
Glanbensfreiheit — for  this  is  the  Reformation's  Festtag — the 
anniversary  of  the  aj6&xation  of  the  theses  on  the  door  of  the  Wit- 
tenberg Church  by  Luther.  The  king  has  ordered  it  to  be 
solemnized  yearly,  beginning  this  year.  Franke  is  a  venerable 
oldish  man  with  the  mien  of  a  Catholic  priest,  which  is  heightened 
by  his  wearing,  like  them,  a  black  velvet  skullcap,  over  his  bald 
head.     This  is  however  common  with  old  Germans.  .  .  . 

Nov.  4. — ^Was  invited  by  Professor  Tholuck,  with  Mr.  Fulton, 
the  Scotch  student  from  Dr.  Burns'  congregation  at  Paisley,  to 
walk  with  him  and  Professor  Ulritzi  [Ulrici]  *  to  whom  he  intro- 
duced us.  The  latter  can  speak  Swedish,  Danish,  a  little  Russian, 
Polish,  German,  English,  French,  Spanish,  Italian,  Latin,  and 
Greek,  Persian  and  Arabic,  and  of  course  understands  the  Hebrew 
and  Chaldsean. 

He  gave  me  some  valuable  information  about  the  course  of 
ecclesiastical  deposition  in  Prussia. 

Nov.  6. — Attended  the  evening  meeting  of  students  at  Pro- 
fessor Tholuck's.  It  was  very  crowded,  because  he  was  to  give 
a  continuation  of  his  account  of  things,  as  he  saw  them  in  Sweden 

*  Hermann  Ulrici.  Born  at  Pforten,  Prussia,  March  23,  1806:  died 
at  Halle,  Prussia,  January  11,  1884.  A  German  theistic  philosopher  and 
critic,  professor  at  Halle.  His  works  include  "Ueber  Shakspere's  dra- 
matische  Kunst,"  a  number  of  philosophical  works,  etc.  (From  Century 
Cyclopedia.) 


no  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vi 

and  Norway.  Three  concentric  rows  of  chairs  were  filled  by  the 
students — and  the  sofa  behind  the  table  at  one  end  of  which 
Professor  T.  sat,  (rubbing  his  knees,)  while  all  hung  with  breath- 
less attention  upon  his  lips;  many  others  stood  in  the  corners, 
and  filled  the  little  anteroom  (his  proper  study),  to  the  door  of 
which  was  wheeled  a  sofa  for  one  or  two  ladies.  When  those 
who  stood  got  very  tired — those  who  sat,  very  kindly  gave  up  to 
them  their  seats.  It  opened  at  eight  o'clock  and  closed  at  ten- 
fifteen.  He  first  spoke  of  the  constitution  of  the  Swedish  church, 
and  made  a  student  read  a  few  pages  of  a  description  of  the  oath 
taken  at  the  inauguration  of  a  (  ?  )  to  show  how  fixed 
all  was.  (He  told  him  if  he  didn't  read  louder  he  would  never 
become  a  preacher.)  Then  he  described  the  two  Universities — 
of  Upsala  (Royal)  and  Thom  ( ?)  and  spoke  of  their  being  some- 
times Schleiermacherish  and  at  others  Hegelian,  and  at  others 
Straussisch,  etc.,  etc.  (Such  is  the  mode  of  talking  here.)  Ger- 
many and  the  German  Europe  seems  to  be  a  great  devil  take 
the  hindmost  race-course.  As  Ulrici  said — speaking  of  old 
(?)  and  his  103  one  edition  works,  "a  German  never 
merely  writes  one  book — he  must  write  many — he  must  keep  on 
writing  or  he  is  speedily  forgotten."  But  when  he  is  dead  he 
writes  no  more — hence  the  dead  are  dead  in  Germany.  They 
first  die  themselves,  and  then  soon  after  their  influence  dies. 
German  Pedantry  forbids  their  memory  to  die.  Now  Hegel  is 
all  the  rage.  Nothing  is  heard  of  but  Hegel.  He  is  the  great 
philosopher.  (He  died  in  the  cholera  a  few  years  back.)  But 
how  long  he  will  continue  such,  especially  as  he  is  dead,  no  one 
can  foresee.    What  is  Kant  now  ? 

We  think  Hengstenberg  *  a  great  man,  said  I  to  Fabian  last 
night.  "You  Jo.?"  said  he,  lifting  up  his  hands  and  eyes — "he 
is  a  humbug — he  blows  a  big  trumpet,  with  both  cheeks  full — 
is  a  very  little  man."    So  it  goes — here.  .  .  . 

Nov.  8. — Gave  a  first  lesson  to  Professor  Erdmann  in  English. 
On  Fridays  we  are  to  read  "Nicholas  Nickleby,"  and  on  Tuesdays 
translate  a  German  book.  I  feel  that  I  am  making  good  prog- 
ress in  the  German,  but  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  and  the  vista 
of  the  dictionary  opens  out  fearfully. 

*  Ernst  Wilhelm  Hengstenberg.  Bom  at  Frondenburg,  Westphalia, 
October  20,  1802-  died  at  Berlin,  May  28,  1869.  A  German  Protestant 
theologian,  leader  of  the  orthodox  Lutherans,  professor  of  theology  in 
Beriin  from  1826.  He  wrote  " Christologie  des  Alten  Testaments"  (1825- 
35),  etc.     {From  Century  Cyclopedia.) 


i844  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  iii 

Nov.  13. — ^Monday  I  was  cited  to  appear  at  the  police  passport 
office,  where  I  had  left  my  passport,  and  I  received  a  permit  to 
stay  six  months,  for  ten  groschen.  .  .  . 

"How  many  physicians  have  you  in  Halle ?^'  I  asked  of  Miss 
Malvina  to-day.  "80."  "80!  for  a  city  of  2700  people?"  "Yes 
— including  60  students."  "Ah,  that  is  another  thing — quite. 
And  how  many  of  them  are  homoeopathists ? "  "Not  one." 
"Why  so?"  "No  homoeopathist  would  consent  to  live  here, 
his  condition  would  be  made  so  disagreeable  by  the  other  phy- 
sicians. So  that  the  people  who  favor  that  system  must  prac- 
tise it  themselves,  or  put  up  with  the  old  practice." 

Yesterday  evening  went  and  introduced  myself  to  Professor 
Baimieister,  entomologist  (I  thought  geologist),  who  told  me 
something  of  the  geology  of  Germany.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  We  then  spoke  of  the  state  of  religious  feeling  in  the 
North  and  South  of  Germany  respectively.  Here  as  I  see  all 
is  very  cold.  Not  a  lecture — ^not  a  house  meeting,  begins  with 
prayer.  .  .  . 

The  reformed  here  are  divided — one  part  cry — "all  our 
troubles  have  come  from  das  Wissen — knowledge — we  must 
lay  it  aside  and  go  to  Faith": — and  they  are  disposed  to  enter 
Herrnhut,  having  left  Berlin.  The  other  part  (where  Hengsten- 
berg  and  Neander,  etc.,  found  themselves)  cry — "no,  let  us  treat 
the  disease  homoeopathically;  what  has  killed  shall  cure.  We 
will  fight  the  infidels  on  their  own  ground.  We  will  know  what 
these  knowing  ones  know,  that  we  may  know  what  they  do  not 
know,"  .  .  . 

Nov.  22. — ^Professor  Erdmann,  speaking  to-day  of  the  preju- 
dice against  color  in  America,  told  me  that  the  same  kind  of 
feeling  existed  here,  until  within  a  few  years,  among  the  com- 
mon people  against  any,  even  to  the  fourth  generation,  tainted 
with  Wendish  (Vandal)  blood.  The  Guilds  would  not  receive 
them,  or  would  eject  them  if  inadvertently  received.  They  could 
not  be  masters  in  any  workshop,  and  were  almost  on  a  par  with 
Hangmen's  children. 

Lately  Prussia  has  abolished  the  Guild  system;  any  man 
by  payment  of  a  few  dollars  to  the  Government  may  set  up  as 
soon  as  he  likes  for  himself.  .  .  . 

Nov.  23. — ^The  same  complaints  are  made  here  over  ineffi- 
cient servants, — dirty,  slovenly,  ignorant  cooks.  .  .  . 

It  seems  also  that  the  system  obtains  of  luring  away  a  good 


112  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  vi 

cook  from  the  family  that  enjoys  her,  not  by  higher  wages,  but 
in  hopes  of  Hghter  work  and  better  treatment.  Open  fight  has 
occurred  between  a  master  and  his  servant.  But  I  suppose 
not  oftener  than  in  England  or  America.  But  I  heard  of  one 
curiosity  at  least. 

A  cook  comes  to  obtain  a  place  in  a  family  at  Berlin.  She 
is  satisfied  and  so  is  the  mistress,  but  looking  round  she  says, 
"I  do  not  see  any  place  where  I  can  place  my  piano."  "No," 
says  the  lady.  "I  am  very  sorry  then  that  I  cannot  serve  you," 
she  replies  and  leaves  the  house  to  seek  another  more  commo- 
dious or  more  compliant.  .  .  . 

Sabbath,  Nov.  24. — Nine  o'clock  heard  Professor  Erdmann 
in  the  Moritz  Kirche,  .  .  .  The  sting  of  death  is  sin;  we  have 
the  victory  by  Jesus  Christ.  .  .  . 

A  cold  sermon:  a  beautiful  sermon — chaste,  elegant,  simple, 
eloquent,  sublime  in  the  purity  of  thought  and  clearness  of  enun- 
ciation,— but  dead  as  the  pillar  before  which  it  was  recited. 
The  application  of  Scripture  was  so  rich  and  so  aptly  true,  that 
I  started  more  than  once,  lifting  my  face  with  wonder  to  him, 
asking  myself — is  this  the  Hegelian? — has  he  become  a  preacher 
of  righteousness  ?  It  was  an  angel  of  darkness  in  robes  of  light. 
Saul  was  only  among  the  prophets. 

I  was  much  struck  with  the  resemblance  which  Professor 
Erdmann  bore  to  Persico's  Mephistopheles,  in  his  studio  at 
Philadelphia — the  sculptor.  Erdmann  has  a  noble,  accurate 
mind. 

Dec.  2. — On  the  third  invitation  of  Professor  Tholuck,  I  took 
advantage  of  the  charming,  cold  sky,  and  took  a  long  walk  with 
him  and  Professor  Ulrici. 

Dec.  4. — I  am  almost  overburdened  with  favors  all  at  once — 
three  gentlemen  students  have  come  upon  me,  one  at  ten,  one 
at  eleven  and  one  at  3I  o'clock,  to  walk  with  me  and  exchange 
English  for  German.  These  with  Professor  Erdmann's  Eng- 
lish lessons   twice  a  week,  Mr.  of  the  Waisenhaus,  twice 

a  week  and  WandePs  daily  lesson,  the  only  one  I  pay  (five  gros. 
an  hour  =  12J  cts.).  I  find  four  hours  of  the  day  taken  up  in 
pitre  talk.  Then  is  the  dinner  hour  and  the  supper  hour,  and 
the  hour  to  sit  to  listen  to  Erdmann's  philosophical  lecture — 
making  seven  hours  of  regular  study; — besides  this  I  have  two 
hours  in  the  morning  and  two  at  night  (before  supper)  of  quiet 
German  reading, — making  eleven; — and  one  or  two  after  supper 


i844  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  113 

according  to  circumstances  and  wakefulness.  So  that  I  am  trav- 
elling at  the  rate  of  at  least  twelve  hours  a  day  on  the  road  to 
somewhere,  with  the  advantage  of  a  single  track  to  drive  upon. 
I  sleep  seven  hours — sometimes  eight — and  idle  many  a  five 
minutes  away  without  being  aware  of  it.  But  I  try  to  redeem 
the  whole  day.  .  .  . 

Dec.  11th. — Closed  with  Mr.  Zimmerman  for  18  Th.  a  month 
and  everything.  ... 

This  means,  no  doubt,  that  he  changed  his  lodging  and 
boarding  place. 

Saturday,  December  14,  1844  (Halle). — Quite  at  home;  my 
room  however  not  quite  dry,  and  so  not  in  it  yet.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Zimmerman,  Captain  Gould  (expecting  to  go  to  India)  and 
young  Frederick  . . .  from  W.  Indies,  compose  the  household.  We 
speak  much  German,  and  a  fine  little  library  is  open  to  my  use.  .  .  . 

February  11,  1845. — Take  up  my  journal  again  after  a  two 
months'  interruption.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  My  stay  in  Halle  draws  to  a  close.  The  cold  weather 
of  late  November  was  succeeded  by  a  wondrously  mild  and 
beautiful  winter,  suddenly  breaking  up  at  the  beginning  of  this 
month  into  a  series  of  daily  cold  blows  and  snows,  with  which 
the  ground  is  now  bedecked,  and  over  which  all  the  old  and 
new  sleighs  which  Halle  boasts  of,  drive  hither  and  yon  in  mad 
career.  The  peculiarity  of  sleighing  in  Germany  consists  in 
furnishing  the  sleigh  with  a  narrow  straddle  seat  behind,  across 
which  a  man  sits  with  his  feet  on  two  irons  projecting  above  the 
runners,  cracking  from  time  to  time  an  immense  whip-lash  at- 
tached to  a  short  handle,  and  producing  therefrom  divers  re- 
ports of  guns  and  pistols  in  the  several  stages  of  their  development. 
The  performance  seems  to  be  the  translation  into  German  of 
the  common  English  expression  "here  we  go!"  .  .  . 

Prof.  Blanc  finished  "Tartuffe"  (Moliere)  yesterday,  and  next 
Thursday  begins  a  course  of  lectures  on  the  French  theatre; 
of  course  in  French.  Our  old  Hofrath  Holman  above  us  con- 
tinues his  prosy  readings  of  Boccaccio's  "  Decamerone,"  translating 
into  German  with  tedious  interludes  of  reminiscences,  traditions 
and  what  not,  half  in  Italian,  half  in  German. 

The  best  method  of  teaching  a  language  in  lectures  is,  as  I 
think,  to  take  a  good  and  not  abstract  author,  to  translate  it 


114  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vi 

sentence  by  sentence,  not  too  slowly,  but  taking  care  to  give 
the  translation  into  good  English  of  each  sentence  he'jore  reading 
the  sentence  in  the  original.  Thus  much  time  is  saved  and 
tedium  also  avoided.  It  is  natural  to  become  impatient  of  mere 
sounds  before  knowing  their  meaning;  and  it  is  necessary  when 
they  are  known  to  return  and  go  over  them  again,  in  thought  at 
least.  The  translation  should  be  so  conducted  that  the  grammar 
should  come  in,  not  in  the  way  of  precept,  but  of  practice.  Thus 
in  the  first  lesson;  begin  by  saying  that  the  general  form  of  the 
article  is  so  and  so.  Then  every  time  a  form  of  the  article  occurs, 
run  through  the  three  genders  of  that  particular  case  and  tell 
the  pupils  to  do  the  same  in  a  low  voice.  In  case  of  confusion 
of  forms,  proceed  by  stating  the  case,  and  then  give  the  three 
genders.  Thus  the  students  will  soon  be  able  to  repeat  per- 
fectly, and  in  their  natural  connection,  the  phases  of  the  article 
and  never  give  one  case  instead  of  another;  while  no  time  has 
been  lost  in  the  process.  So  of  other  points  of  grammar,  taking 
them  up  one  at  a  time,  not  too  hurriedly.  Grammar  is  easily 
learned  in  the  course  0}  time,  but  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  learn 
in  mass,  at  once. 

February   12,  1845  (Halle). — News  has  arrived  from  Berlin 

that  since  the  visit  of  Herr  B minister  at  London  to  the  King 

last  year  and  their  secret  comprenus  together,  the  King  has  been 
working  upon  a  constitution,  and  is  about  to  give  it  in  to  the 
several  Landtags  of  the  provinces, — now,  for  four  weeks  from 
the  last  Monday,  in  session.  Germany  is  electrified.  Wandel, 
as  a  student,  is  half-crazy  with  joy.  Surmises  are  numberless 
upon  its  contents.  The  King  is  immortalized  upon  the  spot, 
and  all  dissatisfaction  on  the  point  of  taking  wings  to  fly  away.  . . . 

I  have  borrowed  Strauss'  *  Life  of  Jesus  and  am  reading  it. 
I  took  up  the  book  with  fear  and  trembling,  and  prayed  ear- 
nestly that  my  faith  might  stand  if  it  were  a  good  faith,  and  that 
God  would  lead  me  into  the  way  of  all  truth,  by  opening  my 
eyes  to  discern  where  truth  lay  and  where  error.  The  first  page 
I  opened  troubled  me  beyond  measure;   it  was  a  rapid,  concise, 

*  David  Friedrich  Strauss.  Bom  at  Ludwigsburg,  Wiirtemberg,  Janu- 
ary 27,  1808:  died  at  Ludwigsburg,  February  8,  1874.  A  celebrated  Ger- 
man theological  and  philosophical  writer  and  biographer.  He  was  edu- 
cated at  Tubingen  and  Berlin,  and  was  "repetent"  at  the  Theological 
Seminary  and  lecturer  at  the  University  of  Tiibingen  1832-35.  He  was 
deprived  of  his  office  on  account  of  hig  "Leben  Jesu  "  {Century  Cyclo- 
pedia,) 


I 


i84S  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  115 

sharp-sighted,  clearly  presented  although  only  by  the  by  coining 
catalogue  of  Harmonic  difficulties  in  the  way  of  the  truth  of  the 
Gospel. 

It  was  in  the  last  chapter  of  his  introduction.  I  then  turned  to 
his  first  chapter  in  the  life  of  Jesus  when  a  child,  and  read  it 
with  care.  No  one  can  imagine  the  joy  I  experienced  when 
closing  the  book  I  reflected  upon  the  exceeding  ease  with  which 
a  soul  filled  with  the  ideas  of  first  the  necessity  of  a  Revelation, 
and  second  the  power  and  presence  of  God,  and  third  the  con- 
sistency existing  between  His  power  and  will,  and  the  exhibi- 
tion of  the  same  in  the  way  of  miracles — could  listen  calmly  to 
the  mild,  logical,  unimpassioned,  almost  disinterested  words  of 
Strauss,  and  pass  unhesitating  judgment  upon  the  presumption, 
and  folly  of  his  Standpunct  (point  of  view).  His  effort  is  to 
prove  that  the  account  of  the  birth  of  John  Baptist  is  a  myth, 
i.e.  that  some  Christian  wishing  to  take  advantage  of  the  no- 
toriety, in  history,  of  the  Baptist,  in  order  to  interweave  his 
career  with  that  of  Jesus,  and  satisfy  thereby  the  general  feeling 
among  the  Jews  that  the  Messiah  was  to  have  a  forerunner, — 
framed  the  history  of  his  birth  from  materials  gathered  here  and 
there  out  of  the  Old  Testament  such  as  the  births  of  Isaac,  Sam- 
son, etc.  The  grand  talisman  of  criticism  which  Strauss  uses 
is  that  unbelieving  sentence,  es  ist  gar  nicht  wahrscheinlich,  "it 
is  very  improbable." 

His  book  is  valuable  to  the  theologian  for  its  contents.  It 
embraces  a  summary  of  best  hypotheses  on  the  side  of  Chris- 
tian and  Rationalistic  Harmonists,  and  gives  the  quintessence 
of  objection  which  can  be  made  to  the  several  parts  of  the  Holy 
Scripture.  May  God  confound  the  wisdom  of  the  wise  and  lead 
this  man  to  the  knowledge  of  this  truth!  .  .  . 

On  Monday  last  I  walked  with  Tholuck,  Lyman,  and  H. 
I  put  the  first  a  question  somewhat  like  this:  Why  are  the  Old 
Testament  Scriptures  so  low  esteemed  in  Germany?  He  an- 
swered, because  it  was  not  a  part  of  the  Bible,— and  asked  me 
if  what  was  said  in  it  about  God's  will  and  works  was  not  too 
grausam  (cruel)  to  be  true?  I  replied  it  was  grausam  thus  to 
think  and  thus  to  speak.  They  all  three  laughed  heartily.  I 
felt  much  more  like  crying  than  laughing.  Grausam!  yes,  cruel 
enough  to  poor  souls  which  wish  to  have,  to  keep  and  to  be  saved 
by  a  Bible,  when  that  Bible  is  torn  from  them  by  impertinent, 
ignorant  criticism.  Since  I  have  been  in  Germany,  I  have  heard 
every  book  or  collection  of  books  in  the  Bible  pronounced,  in  turn, 
by  different  persons,  of  different  opinions,  spurious.     One  says 


Ii6  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vi 

Genesis  is  a  fiction;  another  says  Job  was  written  by  a  returned 
captive;  another  says  the  Hebrews  are  not  genuine,  that  Peter 
is  apocryphal,  that  the  first  chapter  of  John,  of  Luke,  are  added ; 
every  verse  you  bring  up  of  a  decided  power  against  a  man's 
errors,  becomes  immediately  in  his  eyes  an  interpolated  verse. 
Some  reject  the  Old  Testament,  some  the  New,  and  some  call  the 
whole  a  moral,  a  fiction,  or  a  lie.  Germany  is  a  wareshop  of 
Biblical  unbelief;  purchasers  from  abroad  will  find  here  a  full  as- 
sortment. The  Christian  who  wants  no  such  ware,  looks  on,  and 
holds  his  whole  Bible  the  tighter  to  his  breast. 

In  later  years  my  father  delighted  in  the  "Higher  Crit- 
icism," and  read  omnivorously  along  this  line  of  Biblical 
research,  so  that  I  find  it  difficult  to  imagine  him  possessed 
in  youth  of  so  different  a  view  of  the  subject. 

February  14,  1845  (Halle). — ^Which  is  most  to  be  pitied,  upon 
physical  considerations,  that  poor  old  woman  toiling  across  the 
promenade  with  her  panier  of  Torjstein  bending  her  half-down 
to  the  ground, — or  yonder  professor  hobbling  down  the  stairs 
of  the  University,  with  arms  half-spread  in  instinctive  guard 
against  the  possibility  of  falling,  whose  youth-life  was  consumed 
by  incessant  toil,  whose  limbs  are  cracked  and  shortened  by 
rheumatism  contracted  by  sitting  with  his  feet  in  cold  water  to 
keep  his  exhausted  nature  from  falling  into  sleep  before  his  daily 
task  was  performed  ?  The  one  is  a  Bauer's  wife  or  widow — the 
other  Professor  Tholuck,  with  his  half-shut  eyes,  thought-fur- 
rowed brow,  ill-set  clothes,  straight-rimmed  old  hat,  unstrapped 
pantaloons, — a  professor  run  to  seed — a  godly  man  above  the 
world — an  incipient  Gabriel  in  flesh,,  bone,  leather  and  wool 
arrayed,  waiting  for  his  presentation  at  court.  .  .  . 

History.  Weltgeschicte.  History  of  the  development  of 
the  human  world  soul.  History  of  philosophy  from  the  time 
the  world  went  to  Thales'  infant  school,  to  the  date  of  its  last 
brochure  from  the  press,  of  Kant,  Schilling,  Fichte,  Hegel  and 
Co.  What  a  nonsensical  jumble  the  philosophical  historian 
of  historical  philosophy  makes  of  it  all!  What  with  "tasks" 
and  developments,  necessities  and  probabilities,  antipathies  and 
analogies,  actions  and  reactions,  what  an  amount  of  " Heftpapier" 
one  must  use  up  to  put  it  all  down  upon!  And  after  all  one 
learns  nothing  new — one  just  turns  round  and  round  and  comes 
down  the  tall  old  corkscrew  staircase  of  the  old  Time  Cathedral, 


i845  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  I17 

and  finds  that  though  every  single  step  sets  him  with  his  face  to  a 
different  point  of  the  compass  until  he  is  in  a  state  of  philosophical 
and  most  unphilosophic  desperation — yet  that  every  step  is 
exactly  under  and  agreeable  to  the  eighth  or  the  sixteenth  in 
order  above  it — and  the  eighth  or  the  sixteenth  in  order  belovi^ 
it — and  that  the  door  at  the  bottom  faces  exactly  the  same  way 
as  the  door  at  the  top.  A  man  must  lay  both  hands  on  the  straight 
stem  in  the  middle  all  the  way  down,  if  he  doesn't  wish  to  get 
giddy  and  come  down  with  the  run.  The  post  in  the  centre  I 
take  to  be  a  composition  granite — its  mica,  felspar  and  quartz 
are,  I  suspect,  Christianity,  common  sense  and  an  abomination 
of  modern  Germanism. 

February  15, 1845  (Halle). —  .  .  .  My  day's  work  is  as  regular  as 
the  snow.  Up  between  6^  and  7.  Bible  and  breakfast  and 
Thomas  a  Kempis  until  8;  letters,  etc.,  etc.,  till  9  o'clock.  Wandel 
comes  and  stays  till  10,  and  leaves  me  exhausted  or  with  a  head- 
ache. Strauss  or  Franke  till  11.  Go  to  read  "Vicar  of  Wake- 
field "  with  Myers  (or  if  on  Tuesday  and  Friday,  to  talk  English 
with  Professor  Erdmann)  till  12.  Dinner  and  German  con- 
versation till  I.  Strauss,  etc.  till  2;  (or  Monday  and  Thurs- 
day, French  with  Blanc  at  the  University).  Walk  with  Voigt 
till  3.  (English  and  German  every  alternate  day.)  Leo's 
lecture  on  French  Revolution  Monday,  Wednesday  and  Friday; 
and  Holman,  Italian  (Boccaccio),  Tuesday  and  Thursday  until 
4.  Then  walk  with  Wandel  or  whoever  will  go,  or  return  and 
read  till  5.  Erdmann 's  lecture  upon  History  of  Philosophy  till 
6.  Supper  and  German.  Translation  into  German  from  Cecil's 
"Remains,"  etc.,  until  10  (one  evening  in  the  week,  7  to  8  Bible 
study,  one  evening  in  the  week,  8  to  10,  Tholuck's  levee).  Bible 
and  Andacht's  B.  to  bed. 

I  find  myself  very  weak  and  very  lazy.  I  have  often  to  lie 
down  on  the  sofa  for  5  or  10  minutes  to  gather  strength.  The 
German  students  take  another  but  a  worse  way  to  attain  the 
same  object.  They  drink  coffee,  and  smoke.  This  gives  them 
an  immediate  increase  of  strength.  Some  will  drink  10  cups  of 
coffee  and  more  in  the  course  of  the  day,  and  smoke  almost 
as  many  pipes.  .  .  . 

Evening,  loj  o'clock.  Just  returned  with  Robie  Lyman, 
Perston  and  two  German  students,  from  a  great  ^'Commers" 
or  meeting  of  students  in  the  large  hall  of  the  Wein  Traube, 
quarter  of  a  mile  out  the  Gebigenstein  gate,  beyond  the  peni- 
tentiary.   Three  large  circular  oil  chandeliers  hung  from  the 


li8  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vi 

ceiling.  An  arcade  supporting  a  gallery  for  a  fine  brass  band 
filled  up  one  end  of  the  room.  Square  tables  were  ranged  in 
rows  along  it,  and  shifted  at  pleasure,  but  always  kept  in  line, 
for  the  parties  and  rows  of  students,  of  whom  300  might  be  present. 

As  Roby  and  I,  after  our  quiet  walk  over  the  snow  beneath 
the  rows  of  small  trees  in  the  deep-cut  road,  reached  the  build- 
ing, the  rich  swell  of  a  student  song,  full  of  Freiheit  and  Vater- 
land,  rose  and  fell  upon  the  night  air.  On  entering  we  took  a 
seat  at  a  side  table  and  were  soon  joined  by  Lyman.  Gould  and 
Wandel  we  descried  seated  against  the  wall  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  room.  The  song  continued.  Every  voice  made  itself 
heard.  The  pipes  hung  idly  in  the  hands.  Heads  were  thrown 
back  over  the  chairs,  the  face  upturned,  and  the  soul  following 
the  song  to  heaven — the  students'  heaven!  Little  boys  ran  up 
and  down  the  aisles  between  the  tables  carrying  out  the  empty 
mugs  and  replacing  them  full  before  each  student,  and  received 
his  half-groschen  in  return.  The  song  swells  and  dies  and  swells 
again, — the  choruses  shake  the  room.  Now  all  rise  and  every 
one  strikes  his  glass  against  as  many  of  his  friends  as  are  within 
his  arm's  reach,  and  the  song  and  the  last  chorus  end  together. 

When  they  ceased  singing,  they  all  rose  and  walked  and 
crowded  together,  talking,  laughing,  filling  the  air  with  a  cloud 
of  smoke  and  a  roar  of  joyous  noise.  Some  were  noble  fellows. 
Faces  in  which  deep  thought  had  left  its  impression: — faces  of 
full-moon  good  fellowship — faces  of  deep  melancholy — faces  of 
singular  beauty — faces  common,  and  ugly,  striking  and  tame, — 
faces  of  every  character  except  vulgarity  and  brutality — all  beam- 
ing with  the  easy  nonchalance  and  overflowing  bonhomie  and 
thorough  satisfaction,  so  indigenous  to  the  soil  of  German  "  Bur- 
schen"  life. 

Most  wore  their  caps — the  little  student  Miitze.  One  or 
two  had  decorated  them  with  long  red  tassels.  Many  had  their 
long  hair  falling  in  straight  masses  upon  their  back  and  shoulders 
(for  the  German  hair  not  often  waves).  All  had  the  indispensable 
long  pipe  or  the  less  fashionable  cigar,  and  left  their  great  glass 
mugs  with  silvered  hds  before  their  chairs  upon  the  table. 

Here  were  men  of  all  the  Germanic  nations,  and  the  coming 
of  the  Englishman  among  them  (for  they  recognize  no  distinc- 
tion between  the  English,  Scotch  and  Americans)  gratified  them 
all.  Here  were  Russians  and  Saxons  and  Pommerns,  West- 
phalians,  Swabians,  Baiems,  Austrians  and  Hungarians  with 
their  long  black  hair  and  virgin  bushy  beards.  Men  from  the 
Rhine,  from  the  North  Sea,  and  from  beyond  the  Carpaths  met 


i845  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  119 

here  on  common  ground,  and  loved  each  other  with  German 
hearts.  As  the  5000  met  in  1820  to  sing  songs  of  Freedom  on 
the  Wartzburg  hill;  in  the  same  spirit  these  200  met  here  to-night 
to  sing  the  same  songs — at  least  those  of  them  that  are  not  pro- 
hibited by  law — and  to  feel,  if  they  dare  not  speak,  for  Germany 
and  Freedom. 

But  another  and  more  immediate  and  therefore  stronger 
principle  of  union  operates  to-night.  These  assembled  are  part 
of  the  330  who  have  organized  in  minor  kneipes  or  societies, 
and  now  for  the  first  time  assemble  together  (under  pretence 
of  a  concert,  inserted  in  the  corner  of  the  newspaper,  at  which  it 
was  understood  none  but  students  would  be  present — in  order 
to  escape  the  punishment  attached  to  secret  or  public  gather- 
ings of  students  as  such)  avowedly  in  opposition  to  the  "Club," 
i.e.  the  100  students  who  in  time  past  have  self-constituted  them- 
selves a  court  of  honor,  and  ruled  the  700  students  of  the  Univer- 
sity with  a  rod  of  iron.  The  story  of  the  tyranny  exercised  by 
this  selection  of  imperious  spirits  from  the  various  kingdoms  of 
Germany,  would  be  a  long  one.  Now  their  reign  is  past.  A  con- 
stitution will  be  formed  next  week,  in  which  the  laws  of  dwelling 
will  be  accurately  detailed,  closely  adhered  to,  and  energetically 
carried  into  effect.  A  general  president,  who  holds  his  place 
four  weeks  presiding  covertly  (else  he  would  be  ejected  from  the 
University);  and  every  little  circle  of  10  or  20,  with  a  vice-presi- 
dent at  its  head,  judges  upon  every  case  brought  before  it,  and 
the  verdict  of  the  parts  becomes  the  verdict  of  the  whole. 

The  most  perfect  unanimity  and  good  feeling  reigned  through- 
out the  room.  Song  followed  song.  At  last  several  came  to  us, 
pleaded  against  our  isolation,  carried  off  our  table  and  joined  it 
with  Wandel's  party,  with  whom  I  seated  myself  and  joined  with 
all  my  voice  in  the  glorious  music,  although  it  was  about  "  Music, 
wine  and  love" — and  the  glories  of  the  Burschen  life. 

At  half-past  10  I  left.  .  .  . 

Sabbath,  February  16,  1845  (Halle). —  ...  I  feel  an  ever -in- 
creasing, ever  more  continuous  desire  of  seeking  the  salvation 
of  the  souls  around  me;  yet  this  desire  is  never  gratified.  Instead 
of  leading  the  conversation,  I  am  led  by  it.  Despair  often  comes 
over  me  when  I  think  of  the  future.  If  I  am  ever  to  do  any 
good,  now  is  the  time,  as  well  as  a  year  hence,  when  I  may  be  in 
another  world.  If  I  am  too  weak,  too  selfish,  or  too  unbeliev- 
ing now,  what  reason  have  I  to  believe  such  dispositions  will 
come  with  a  change  of  scene  or  a  formal  assumption  of  office? 


I20  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  vi 

I  am  incessantly  reminded  of  David;  * — a  friendless  refugee, 
ignorant  of  the  language,  timid,  modest,  sensitive,  yet  burning 
with  so  pure  a  love  for  the  souls  of  men  and  zeal  for  the  glory 
of  his  Saviour,  that  before  six  months  had  passed  over  his  head 
in  America  God  had  given  him  five  or  six  seals  [sic]  to  his  unas- 
suming ministry.  And  what  have  I  done  here?  Absolutely 
nothing.  Too  timid  to  rebuke,  too  cold  to  plead,  too  selfish  to 
offend,  I  have  no  doubt  I  encourage  the  indifference  I  see  around 
me  rather  than  remove  it;  and  yet  I  feel  and  say  to  myself  in 
my  own  room,  I  would  give  or  do  anything  to  win  souls  to  Christ. 
The  next  hour  I  go  out,  find  opportunities,  neglect  them,  return 
and  say  the  same  words.  Such  a  man  has  a  right  to  doubt  that 
he  is  a  Christian,  will  be  drowned  in  the  ocean  as  he  goes  to  take 
up  his  office,  or  deposed  from  his  ministry  after  he  has  assumed  it. 

What  is  to  be  done?  My  heart  says,  goodness  is  a  gift  of 
God:  one  must  not  look  a  gift  horse  in  the  mouth.  Conscience 
cries  out  at  the  thought,  and  warns  me  that  God  has  said.  Be 
perfect  as  I  am  perfect.  Work  while  it  is  called  to-day.  Be 
instant  in  season  and  out  of  season.  Offer  up  your  soul  and 
body  a  reasonable  service.  My  heart  replies,  I  wish  to:  and, 
pointing  to  the  books  loading  the  table,  bids  me  reflect  on  the 
number  of  hours  I  spend  in  translating  German.  Conscience 
is  not  satisfied,  but  ask  if  preparation  for  duly  to  come  is  to  exclude 
duty  at  hand.  The  heart  pleads  a  regular  cheerful  life,  a  stead- 
fast rejection  of  error,  even  occasional  zeal  for  the  truth  when 
it  is  attacked.  Conscience  replies:  must  not  precept  accompany 
example?  must  not  general  truth  be  made  particular  by  being 
made  personal?  Man's  heart  is  like  Babylon  with  its  gardens. 
If  the  Christian  blockades  it  merely,  his  hopes  are  in  vain,  for  it 
has  provision  enough  within  itself  to  sustain  an  endless  siege. 
He  must  attack  it  and  if  possible  take  it  by  storm. 

Driven  to  extremities,  the  heart,  as  a  last  resort,  pleads  that 
the  heart  of  man  is  in  the  hand  of  God.  That  all  the  talking 
and  preaching  in  the  world  will  do  no  good  unless  God  sees  proper 
to  make  men  better  by  his  own  Almighty  grace.  Conscience 
answers,  if  that  were  a  good  reason  for  Christians  to  hold  their 
peace  and  live  among  other  people  like  other  people,  it  were 
also  a  good  reason  for  abolishing  the  ordinance  of  the  ministry, 
and  even  for  neglecting  the  preaching  of  an  innocent  and  useful 
Christian  life. 

*  His  friend  David  Trumbull  probably,  who  had  gone  to  Valparaiso 
as  a  missionary. 


i845  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  121 

But,  says  the  heart,  if  you  ask  every  one  you  meet  if  he  loves 
Jesus,  if  he  ever  prays,  etc.,  etc.,  you  vs^ill  offend  him,  make 
yourself  generally  hated  and  shunned  as  a  fanatic  and  fool,  and 
of  course  can  then  do  no  good. 

And  do  you  do  any  good  if  you  do  not  ask  these  questions  ? 
is  the  reply  of  Conscience.  Besides  people  who  live  in  imme- 
diate connection  with  j^ou  will  find  it  hard  to  shun  you  in  common 
intercourse  of  life,  and  repeated  questions  get  at  last  an  answer. 
Moreover  it  is  not  so  easy  to  offend  another  by  a  Christian  Ques- 
tion as  you  think  for.  People  also  are  much  more  accessible 
on  religious  ground — much  oftener  indeed  anxious  to  be  asked 
these  very  questions,  to  which  shame  prevents  them  seeking  from 
others  solutions,  than  is  generally  imagined. 

No!  it  is  a  nameless  shame  worthy  of  the  devil,  but  most 
unworthy  of  a  saved  soul — the  shame  of  speaking  about  the  good, 
in  this  bad  world;  about  God  among  those  who  fear  and  dis- 
like Him;  of  being  in  direct  opposition  with  those  who  know 
with  you,  but  cannot  feel  with  you;  of  hurting  them,  by  exciting 
within  them  that  internal  dissension,  which  they  are  ever  at 
such  pains — such  unavailing  pains  to  allay.  That  is  the  true 
reason  of  the  Christian's  backwardness  to  ask  the  kind  and 
simple  question — do  you  ever  pray?  It  is  as  disagreeable,  and 
precisely  for  the  same  reasons,  as  to  ask  a  person  whose  honesty 
you  suspect — have  you  seen  my  watch?  You  sympathize  so 
much  with  his  chagrin — ^you  feel  his  shame  so  much  yourself 
before  it  comes  on  him — ^you  are  so  unwilling  to  hurt  his  feelings 
in  their  tenderest  point,. their  self-respect,  that  rather  than  do  it, 
you  leave  him  in  his  unpraying,  unreconciled  condition,  and  he 
is  damned  forever.  You,  whom  God  in  mercy  has  led  to  secure 
your  own  salvation,  are  too  unwilling  to  hurt  your  fellow -creature's 
feelings — ^rather  say,  are  too  unwilling  to  wound  your  own  self- 
loving,  sympathetic  heart — to  save  his  soul  from  Hell.  Fy!  upon 
such  a  Christian! 

Monday,  February  17,  1845. — ^Why  am  I  a  Calvinist,  etc.? 
is  a  question  which  has  often  given  me  and  no  doubt  multitudes 
of  lovers  of  the  truth  much  trouble  to  answer.  The  ordinary 
answer  is,  because  Calvinism  is  the  truth.  I  retort — so  I  think, 
but  can  I  be  certain  of  it,  seeing  so  many  others,  equally  and 
better  qualified  to  judge  of  what  is  truth,  decide  otherwise,  and 
have  each  one  his  own  system?  The  answer  to  the  question, 
Why  I  am  so  and  so?  as  it  is  a  universal  question,  should  be 
a  universal  answer. 


122  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vi 

I  would  therefore  rather  give  this  answer.  When  all  comes 
to  all,  every  man  must  decide  for  himself  upon  the  phases  of 
truth  and  error  as  presented  to  him,  and  act  accordingly.  His 
question  then,  as  far  as  action  is  concerned,  becomes  not,  what 
is  Truth  ?  but,  what  is  Truth  to  me  ?  What  are  my  probabilities 
of  Truth? 

I  am  a  Calvinist  therefore,  not  because  Calvinism  is  Truth 
to  the  exclusion  of  other  isms  (although  for  all  I  can  say  or  others 
can  say  to  the  contrary,  it  may  be  so) — but  because  it  is  that 
system  of  asserted  truths  which  to  my  mind  seems  the  most  con- 
sequent or  consistent. 

I  thus  avoid  first  the  immodesty  of  asserting  something  to 
be  truth,  in  the  face  of  denying  thousands,  although  in  the  end 
the  thousands  may  be  wrong  and  I  alone  right:  and  .  .  .  second, 
the  necessity  of  denying  asserted  truths  which  though  inconse- 
quent to  my  system  seem  too  well  established  to  be  denied  with- 
out injury  to  the  delicacy  of  either  conscience  or  reason. 

As  a  Calvinist,  a  geologist,  an  artist  of  a  particular  school, 
etc.,  etc.,  I  defend  these  particular  systems  of  Truth  as  being 
those  phases  of  Truth  which  I  as  an  independent  reasoning  being 
must  regard,  respect  and  be  subject  unto.  While  I  can  look 
without  hostility  upon  all  the,  to  me,  inconsequent  assertions  or 
phases  of  truth  which  other  men  around  me  are  in  like  manner 
subject  unto. 

In  a  word  one  must  cease  to  polemize  upon  Eternal  truth, 
and  be  satisfied  with  investigating,  acting  upon,  and  sustaining 
temporal  phases  which  it  presents  to  one.  Modesty  and  a  love 
of  Truth  are  sisters.  .  .  . 

Friday,  February  28,  1845  (Halle). —  .  .  .  The  attempted 
coalition  among  the  students  has  been  discovered  and  broken 
down.  The  students  were  foolish  enough  to  venture  on  holding 
a  committee  meeting  in  the  day-time.  The  University  poodles 
(hired  spies  unknown  and  frequently  changed)  of  course  dis- 
covered. The  four  vice-presidents  at  the  meeting  were  cited, 
and  at  once,  according  to  general  agreement  and  the  infinite  sur- 
prise of  the  senate,  Schultze  and  Pernice  at  the  head,  told  every- 
thing. On  Wednesday  evening  the  committee  for  drawing  up 
their  constitution  met,  at  7  o'clock  some  of  them,  the  whole  at  11. 
After  they  had  come  in  from  the  museum,  Tholuck's,  etc.,  etc. 
(whither  they  had  gone  to  elude  suspicion),  in  a  house  in  the 
country  and  remained  in  violent  debate  until  9  o'clock  next  morn- 
ing.   Had  the  discovery  been  delayed  a  few  weeks  longer,  until 


i84S  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  123 

their  constitution  was  finally  settled  and  adopted,  that  the  true 
object  of  the  association  could  have  been  self-apparent,  they 
would  not  have  cared.  Now  they  had  to  do  all  they  were  to  do, 
at  once.  They  met  again  yesterday.  But  unhappily  there  are 
two  elements  contained  in  the  common  desire  to  break  down  the 
duelling  and  despotic  clubs.  One  part  of  the  coalition  are  Chris- 
tians and  have  formed  a  party  in  favor  of  a  constitution  upon  a 
strictly  moral  basis;  the  rest  say  no,  morality  must  not  enter — 
for  if  it  does  all  duelling  will  be  abolished,  and  while  this  every-day, 
childish  slashing  of  noses  should  be  effectually  put  a  stop  to,  there 
will  arise  cases  of  justifiable  duel,  which  we  must  provide  for  in 
our  constitution  [?].  They  can  come  to  no  agreement  and  it  is 
difficult  to  imagine  a  compromise,  for  the  moralists  dare  not  ad- 
vance a  step  from  their  ground;  without  subjecting  themselves 
to  the  danger  of  being  at  some  time  or  other  drawn  into  a  duel. 


In  March  he  seems  to  have  visited  Berlin  and  several 
other  places,  returning  to  Halle  the  27th  of  March. 

Friday,  March  14,  1845  (Berlin). — .  .  .  After  one  or  two 
attempts  among  the  splendid  private  residences  in  it  and  Linni 
Street  found  Mr.  Fay's  *  house,  and  soon  after  sat  listening  with 
a  delight,  somewhat  difficult  to  explain  perhaps,  to  the  sounds 
made  by  a  little  girl  in  the  next  room,  who  was  repeating  and  sing- 
ing to  her  mother  the  first  verse  or  two  of  the  old  ballad  "cruel, 
cruel,  cruel,  sarpent,"  in  the  purest  English.  I  thought  I  never 
had  heard  music  more  sweet.  I  have  not  heard  the  voice  of  an 
English  woman  since. I  left  Paris,  as  well  as  I  can  remember; 
nor  of  an  English  child.  This  was  still  better,  for  it  was  American 
English. 

Mr.  Fay  soon  came  in,  and  gave  me  Jewitt's  old  address, 
and  some  kind  but  quite  unnecessary  medical  advice,  and  in- 
formed me  of  a  letter  which  had  been  presented  to  him  many 
times,  and  no  later  than  last  evening.  He  is  quite  a  young  man, 
slender  and  suffering.     He  thinks  Berlin  air  inflammatory. 

.  .  .  Returning  to  the  University  I  heard  a  lecture  from  Nean- 

*  Theodore  Sedgwick  Fay.  Born  at  New  York,  February  10,  1807. 
An  American  miscellaneous  writer  and  diplomatist.  Associate  editor  of 
the  New  York  Mirror  in  1828;  secretary  of  the  American  legation  at 
Berlin  in  1837-53;  minister  resident  at  Bern,  Switzerland,  1853-61,  when 
he  retired  to  private  life.  Author  of  "Great  Outlines  of  Geography,"  1867. 
{Century  Cyclopedia^ 


124  .  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vi 

der,*  an  ugly,  crooked,  dark  -  eyebro wed,  rascally -looking  little 
fellow,  with  yellow  skin,  and  nothing  but  a  pair  of  delicious  eyes 
to  recommend  him.  He  lectured  behind  a  high  desk,  on  which 
he  leaned  his  face  on  his  arm,  so  that  he  was  rarely  visible,  and 
swung  it  forward  and  backward  on  its  two  front  legs. 

March  i6th. — .  .  .  The  King  once  sent  an  invitation  to  Nean- 
der  to  supper  (the  Queen  wanted  to  see  him).  He  told  his  sister 
he  hadn't  time  to  answer  the  note,  and  she  must  write  and  say  that 
he  had  made  an  appointment  with  two  students  for  the  hour 
named  and  couldn't  come,  but  would  call  in  some  other  time. 
The  King  knew  the  man  and  sent  another  invitation  another  day. 
Neander  came,  but  soon  after  his  coffee  had  been  poured  out,  he 
got  up,  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said  (almost  the  first  thing  he 
had  said)  that  he  had  forgotten  some  business  he  had  to  do,  and 
went  away.  He  is  one  of  the  most  indefatigable  students  in 
Germany  and  talks  ancient  [Greek — or  Hebrew?]  almost  like 
German.  The  stories  of  his  new  pantaloons;  walking  home  in 
the  gutter;  swelled  foot;  change  of  residence,  etc.,  etc.,  are  very 
amusing,  but  need  verification.  No  doubt  his  personal  defects 
have  contributed  to  wean  him  from  the  world  and  society  and  to 
make  him  the  contemplative  being  he  is.  He  is  said  to  have 
about  as  little  active  Christianity  as  he  has  much  of  the  passive. 
He  is  said  to  take  little  interest  in  any  of  the  great  religious  move- 
ments of  the  day,  such  as  the  conversion  of  the  Jews — tho'  once 
himself  a  Jew.  He  is  much  beloved  by  all  who  approach  him. 
He  was  sick.  At  the  end  of  a  week,  he  returned  to  the  lecture- 
room  and  saw  it  decorated  with  garlands.     He  burst  into  tears. 

March  20. —  ...  I  then  went  to  see  Neander,  talked  five 
minutes,  .  .  .  and  made  my  bow,  admiring  more  than  ever  the 
long  hanging  black  eyebrows  and  the  love  eyes.  He  didn't  ask 
me  to  sit,  but  seemed  willing  to  converse  as  long  as  I  pleased 
— about  America.  .  .  , 

March  21. —  .  .  .  Went  to  the  Street  called' Behind-the-foundry 
Street,   and  was  ushered   through   two  finely  furnished  rooms 

*Johann  Wilhelm  Neander  (originally  David  Mendel).  Born  at 
Gottingen,  January  16,  1789:  died  at  Berlin,  July  14,  1850.  A  noted 
German  Protestant  church  historian  and  theologian  of  Hebrew  descent; 
professor  at  Berlin  from  181 2.  His  chief  work  is  "Allgemeine  Geschichte 
der  Christlichen  Religion  und  Kirche"  ("General  History  of  the  Christian 
Religion  and  Church,"  6  vols.  1825-52),  etc.     {From  Century  Cyclopedia.) 


i845  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  125 

and  seated  on  a  splendid  ottoman,  beside  the  little  old  von  Buch,* 
while  among  other  books  on  a  table  before  it  lay  the  first  copy 
of  J  Hall's  volume  of  the  N.  Y.  Geological  Report,  which  has 
as  yet  struggled  across  into  Germany.  The  old  man  seemed 
pleased  to  see  me,  but  nothing  more, — polite,  not  cordial,  yet 
talked  freely  in  his  mumbling  German  intonations,  and  listened 
courteously  to  my  horrible  attempts  to  express  myself  in  the 
same  language.     Showed  me  some  encrinites. 

[Geological  conversation.]  Still — and  it  is  strange,  yet  not 
strange — no  mention  of  dynamics.  All  is  comparison  litholog- 
ical — and  identification  palsontological.  When  I  said  I  thought 
the  Jura  just  like  the  Alleghany,  he  looked  at  me  a  decided  No; 
for  he  had  but  the  one  idea — the  Jura  limestone  does  not  cross 
the  Atlantic.  Rogers  will  wake  them  to  new  life  when  he  comes 
to  Europe  this  summer.  Our  maps  would  also  do  it  if  they  were 
only  printed.  .  ,  . 

March  27. —  .  .  .  Spring  has  indeed  set  in.  This  has  been 
so  far  a  golden  week.  Read  IfHand's  f  "Jager"  on  Tuesday,  and 
Prutz's  "Moritz  von  Sachsen"  yesterday.  The  latter  has  been 
suppressed  and  therefore  become  celebrated.  There  is  noth- 
ing in  the  tragedy  which  would  suggest  to  a  trans-Atlantic  mind 
the  idea  of  suppression.  He  makes  Moritz  a  new  German  free- 
dom hero,  spouting  of  the  fatherland,  etc.,  etc.,  conquering  his 
father-in-law  Philip  and  John  Fredk.  of  Saxony  out  of  a 
romantic  love  for  the  star  of  Germany  "the  one  hero  living" 
Charles  V. — and  casting  him  off,  not  so  much  to  liberate  the  cap- 
tive princes  as  to  save  Germany  from  a  hereditary  monarchy, 
and  Philip  of  Spain. 

March  28. — ^Yesterday  a  great  crowd  assembled  at  the  Eisen- 
bahn  to  receive  the  from-Leipzig-coming  Ronge,$  Chezsky  and 
others  of  their  party.  I  did  not  see  them,  but  was  told  that 
Ronge  is  a  young,  bashful,  amiable-looking  man,  Chezsky  older 
and  finer  in  his  bearing.  They  supped  last  evening  with  their 
inviters  and  the  professors  who   liked  them  and  whoever  else 

*  Christian  Leopold  von  Buch.  Born  at  Stolpe,  Prussia,  April  26, 
1774:  died  at  Berlin  March  4,  1853.  A  celebrated  German  geologist  and 
traveller.     {Century  Cyclopedia) 

t  August  Wilhelm  Iffland.  Born  at  Hannover,  Prussia,  April  19,  1759: 
died  at  Berlin,  September  22,  1814.  A  noted  German  actor  and  dramatist, 
{Century  Cyclopedia.) 

X  Johannes  Ronge.     Religious  leader.     {See  Universal  Cyclopedia.) 


126  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vi 

chose  to  pay  50  cents  for  a  ticket.     Zimmerman  came   in  half- 
frantic,  saying  that  he  had  actually  pressed  his  hand.  .  .  . 

March  29. — Yesterday  saw  Ronge,  Chezsky  and  the  new 
Catholic  Gemeinde  (congregation)  just  organized  in  Halle.  They 
were  all  breakfasting  together  in  the  Stadt  Zurich. 

.  .  .  Ronge  is  young — 28  perhaps  —  with  a  very  engaging, 
amiable,  smiling  countenance,  and  long  black  hair.  I  looked 
at  him  long  and  attentively,  but  could  not  believe  that  I  had 
before  me  a  Luther,  or  a  Calvin  or  even  a  Joe  Smith.  Nothing 
like  greatness  shone  in  his  countenance,  and  when  he  arose,  as 
in  the  noise  and  movement  he  frequently  did,  to  greet  others, 
his  little  stature  and  boyish  look  was  anything  but  commanding. 
Some  kissed  him !  Indeed  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  kissing  going  on 
among  the  members  of  the  breakfast  party,  and  done  in  so  ready 
and  accurate  a  manner  as  to  prove  they  had  long  been  accus- 
tomed to  the  form.  My  ideas  of  German  brotherhood  and  love 
have  much  changed,  and  altho'  when  I  see  two  red-faced  men 
playing  the  woman  upon  each  other's  lips  or  cheeks  I  don't 
think  of  Joab's  "  how  art  thou  my  brother  "  to  Abner,  yet  I  remem- 
ber how  much  like  other  men  the  Germans  are  within  and  how 
readily  they  take  offence  or  become  suspicious  slanderers  of  their 
neighbors  or  their  seeming  friends.  All  is  not  gold  that  glit- 
ters, and  German  Biederkeit  and  German  Bruderschaft  bears 
too  suspicious  a  resemblance  to  the  honesty  and  fellowship  of 
other  people,  for  a  spectator  not  to  think  on  "German  Metal," 
used  instead  of  virgin  gold  leaf,  to  give  a  lustre  to  toys  and 
gingerbread. 

Be  Ronge  what  he  may — be  he  a  bold  and  indefatigable 
fanatic  (which  I  think  incredible) — or  an  ardent,  zealous  lover 
of  the  truth,  his  fellow-men  and  God  (for  which  I  see  no  evi- 
dence)— or  merely  a  man  of  common  passions  and  uncommon 
bonhomie,  whom  accident  (to  use  a  bad  word  in  a  good  sense) 
has  forced  into  notice  by  the  sudden  outbreak  of  young  indig- 
nation at  abuses  which  he  saw  around  him — be  he  what  he  may 
— he  is  just  now  a  hero.  His  route  is  a  triumph,  crowds  await 
and  welcome  him.     Europe  caresses  his  name. 

But  this  cannot  well  last  long.  The  movement  is  too  univer- 
sal to  be  led  by  one  man,  when  he  is  not  a  Luther.  A  bolder 
or  more  powerful  man  will  usurp  his  station  and  his  fame.  Would 
God  it  were  a  second  war  against  the  heresies  of  Rome!  But, 
alas,  it  is  merely  the  shaking  away  the  old  skin  of  the  snake — 
sloughing  off  the  popedom,  confession  and  celibacy, — but  the 


i845  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  127 

snake  remains.  Not  a  word  is  said  of  purgatory,  of  the  presence 
of  the  eucharist;  saints  may  yet  be  worshipped;  good  works 
save  the  soul. 

As  for  Chezsky,  who  entered  the  room  with  a  cloak,  the  great 
fur  collar  lying  over  his  shoulders,  he  is  less  remarkable  in  his 
features  even  than  Ronge;  also  small,  unintellectual ;  unim- 
aginative; without  inspiring  any  sentiment  of  respect,  other 
than  that  of  man  for  man. 

One  of  the  party  rose  and  made  a  short,  embarrassed  speech, 
perhaps  a  minute  in  duration,  and  proposed  a  toast  to  some  one 
present,  Prof.  Wigand  I  think.  The  latter  rose  and  did  the 
same.  Two  others  followed.  Every  time  the  jingling  of  glasses 
was  enormous.  Every  man  seemed  to  feel  his  conscience  bur- 
dened if  his  glass  had  not  touched  all  within  reach.  Ronge  rose 
and  in  a  low,  musical  but  hesitating  voice  made  a  speech  three 
or  four  minutes  long,  in  which  he  alluded  to  the  precedence  of 
the  Schneidemiihle  congregation  in  the  work,  and  explained 
why  a  closer  connection  had  not  formed  between  that  congre- 
gation and  his  at  Breslau,  merely  by  saying  that  the  latter  could 
not  adopt  all  the  former  had.  (In  other  words  the  Schn.  congr. 
was  evangelical,  or  nearly  so  and  the  Breslau  congr.  not.)  Say- 
ing a  few  commonplace  things  in  rather  an  earnest,  but  some- 
what also  of  a  canting  manner,  he  gave  the  toast— /wr  ewige 
Eintracht  der  neu-catholischen  Gemeinde  in  Halle — "to  the 
eternal  unanimity  of  the  New  Catholic  Congregation  in  Halle." 

He  evidently  has  a  strong  conviction  of  the  propriety  of  the 
step  he  has  taken,  and  a  desire,  common  to  multitudes  of  the 
transalpines,  to  throw  off  the  burdensome  yoke  of  Italian  priest- 
craft. 

April  I. — After  seeing  all  my  things  removed  to  our  new 
dwelling  back  of  a  house  in  the  Rheinische  Strasse,  south  of  the 
Moritz  Kirche,  I  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to  go  with  Roby, 
Wandel  and  Mrs.  Perston  to  Gnadau  at  five  p.m.  Gnadau  lies 
nearly  at  the  mouth  of  the  Saale  and  perhaps  30  miles  north  of 
Halle  (10  S.  of  Magdeburg).  .  .  . 

At  Gnadau  we  four  went  to  a  brother's  house  with  whom 
Mrs.  P.  had  made  an  agreement  beforehand,  and  were  greeted 
on  entrance  by  himself  and  wife;  the  father-in-law  stood  behind 
a  high  chair  in  one  corner,  a  boy  was  bathing  his  frosted  feet 
before  the  great  stove,  and  a  little  daughter  completed  the  family 
circle.  We  had  tea  with  them,  and  our  host  expressed  his  pleas- 
ure at  hearing  for  the  first  time  a  prayer  in  English.  .  ,  , 


128  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vi 

Wednesday,  April  2,  1845  (Gnadau). — Gnadau  is  a  charming 
little  Dorf,  of  300  inhabitants,  clean,  comfortable,  and  noise- 
less. A  Sabbath  stillness  rests  about  it.  It  is  a  quadrangle  of 
houses,  crossed  by  two  main  streets,  at  right  angles,  passing  through 
the  centre,  quadrangular,  hedge-enclosed  and  tree-covered  square. 
On  the  outside  of  this  quadrangle,  runs  a  hard-beaten  foot- 
path or  walk,  under  trees,  forming  a  charming  promenade, 
and  filled  just  now  by  scattered  pairs  and  parties  of  strangers  and 
citizens,  ministers,  students,  and  "sisters."  From  this  walk,  out- 
ward, stretches  the  level  of  the  plain,  with  here  and  there,  some 
miles  in  the  distance,  a  clustered  village  with  its  church  tower. 
Otherwise  it  is  an  unbroken  waste  of  ploughed  and  sown  land, 
without  an  object  to  catch  the  eye  except  a  heap  of  manure  or  a 
mounting  lark.  I  am  wrong,  however,  to  make  it  so  universal, 
for  on  one  side  stand  a  pair  of  windmills,  man  and  wife. 

Thus  stands  the  little  brotherhood  of  houses,  in  its  seclusion 
from  the  world,  yet  maintaining  a  close  connection  with  Herrn- 
hut*  in  the  South,  Paris  and  Bethelem  in  the  West,  S.  Africa,  the 
islands,  and  Greenland.  One  of  the  sisters  is  about  to  be  sent  out 
to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  to  marry  a  missionary  she  has  never 
seen.  He  wrote  lately  for  a  wife,  and  she  will  be  the  first  answer 
to  his  letter.  She  is  a  choice  woman,  and  her  loss  at  Gnadau 
will  be  severely  felt.  He  is  a  Dane,  she  has  been  in  Gnadau 
for  14  years  back — is  28  years  old. 

The  government  is  simple.  The  Inspector  (of  religious  af- 
fairs) and  his  wife,  the  superintendent  (of  temporal  affairs)  and 
his  wife,  the  Warden  of  the  brothers'  house  and  the  matron  of 
the  sisters'  house  (the  former  has  40  -f-,  the  latter  70,  inmates) 
form,  with  one  common  brother,  generally  the  oldest  in  the  Ge- 
meinde,  a  committee  or  council,  for  casting  the  lot,  and  any  other 
matter  (if  there  be  any  other  coming  under  their  jurisdiction; 
of  which  I  am  not  aware).  From  Herrnhut  emanate  the  decisions 
respecting  missionary  changes,  appointments,  support,  etc.  The 
inspectors  of  the  Gemeindes  at  Gnadau  and  elsewhere  over  the 
world,  observe,  note,  and  report  the  characters  of  every  member 
of  the  Gemeinde  to  Herrnhut.  An  emergency  arises,  a  mission- 
ary is  wanted  for  a  station,  or  a  wife  for  a  missionary.  At  Herrn- 
hut the  choice  is  made,  and  word  sent  to  the  one  chosen.  He 
has  the  option  of  laying  the  case  before  the  Lord  himself  and  if 
he  has  no  "  freudiges  Gefuhl"  about  it, — i.e.  if  he  declares  hecan- 

*  Herrnhut.  A  town  in  the  governmental  district  of  Bautzen,  Saxony, 
45  miles  east  of  Dresden.  The  chief  seat  of  the  Moravian  Brotherhood, 
founded  1722.     {Century  Cyclopedia.) 


i845  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  129 

not  feel  the  call, — to  decline — or  of  submitting  it  to  the  decision 
of  the  Lord  in  the  lot.  The  lot  is  cast  by  the  seven  after  fasting 
and  prayer,  and  the  decision  is  final. 

Breakfasting  together  on  coffee  and  cream  (they  gave  me  a 
pot  of  milk)  in  Mrs.  P.'s  room,  we  soon  received  notice  of  the 
fine  day,  and  M^ent  out  for  a  walk. 

At  8J  o'clock  the  people  began  to  assemble  in  the  church. 
Wandel  and  I  took  our  stations  in  the  organ  gallery  which  ran 
across  one  end  of  the  church.  Roby  took  a  seat  among  the 
students  and  ministers  in  one  of  the  movable  benches  in  the 
body  of  the  house.  And  Mrs.  P.  with  her  female  friends  went 
among  the  sisters  in  the  gallery  at  the  opposite  end.  Below  the 
gallery  was  a  great  window  looking  into  the  church,  filled  with 
women's  heads,  each  having  the  peculiar  Moravian  cap  on,  in 
which  many  of  the  younger  ones  look  exceedingly  well.  The 
pretty  French  teacher  who  sat  on  the  sofa  with  Mrs.  P.  last 
evening  after  tea,  and  talked  French,  and  who  resembled  S.  C. 
so  much,  wore  hers  very  gracefully;  she  is  said  to  be  an  earnest, 
modest,  and  most  useful  Christian,  and  Roby  was  as  much 
pleased  with  her  as  I  was. 

Buying  a  copy  of  the  songs  to  be  sung  and  theses  to  be  dis- 
cussed at  a  little  table  near  the  entrance,  where  those  about  to 
belong  to  the  association  designated  their  names  with  a  cross, 
we  took  our  place,  and  soon  after  Westermeier,  the  Moderator, 
gave  out  the  13th  hymn,  and  the  organ  led  the  singing.  A  long, 
earnest,  even  vehement  and  quite  un-German  prayer  followed  by 
Mr.  W.,  and  then  Tholuck  was  called  upon  to  speak.  He  took  the 
chair  and  chose  this  for  his  theme,  "What  has  the  Lord  done 
for  us,  and  what  do  we  do  for  him?"  He  spoke  of  a  request 
made  him  when  he  was  only  a  guest  of  the  body  (he  had  first 
enrolled  his  name)  to  speak  upon  the  state  of  religion  in  Germany; 
that  he  had  been  then  prevented,  and  wished  now  to  comply.  He 
began  at  the  time  of  Germany's  darkness,  1 780-1810,  and  de- 
scribed the  gradual  advancement  of  the  cause  of  God  to  the  present 
time,  introducing  many  of  his  choicest  anecdotes,  and  being 
listened  to  with  extraordinary  attention.  Indeed  whenever  he 
rose  afterwards  to  speak,  however  wild  the  tumult  of  voices  might 
happen  to  be,  the  loud  hiss  ran  instantly  through  the  assembly, 
and  a  dead  silence  ensued.  His  words  are  devoured  as  oracles. 
He  says  little,  and  every  word  tells. 

Returning  to  his  seat  against  the  wall  beside  the  pulpit,  or 
desk  rather  (for  it  is  nothing  more),  facing  the  assembly  (about 
200  in  number),  the  chairman  gave  out  the  3rd  hymn,  and  after- 


130  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vi 

wards  said  a  few  words,  and  then  requested  brother  Gloel  to 
come  forward  and  read  his  theses,  that  motion  might  be  taken 
upon  them.  Altho'  that  is  too  formal  an  expression  to  correspond 
with  the  childish  informahty  of  all  the  proceedings,  the  object 
was  to  pass  a  unanimous  assent  to  the  theses  and  print  them 
for  Germany. 

Brother  Gloel  is  a  great  square -shouldered,  wide-cheeked, 
ungainly  German  of  50  or  thereabout,  and  rolling  up  to  the  desk, 
stood  thereon  and  delivered  himself,  in  a  series  of  clear  intona- 
tions, of  the  contents  of  his  pamphlet,  beginning  with  the  title  of 
Wislecenus'  last — Oh  Schrift?  oh  Geist?  (Whether  the  letter  or 
the  spirit  of  Scripture  ?) 

The  70  theses  were  read  in  order,  the  ministers  assenting 
to  most  of  them  with  a  murmured  ja,  gut,  or  some  such  sign 
of  satisfaction  running  through  the  benches,  breaking  out  into 
rather  louder  utterance  at  any  very  good  decided  orthodox  sen- 
tence. To  some,  however,  objections  were  raised;  discussion 
arose;  the  ministers  would  get  to  talking  to  each  other,  instead 
of  to  the  chair;  at  which  the  Moderator  would  cry,  hitte,  hitte, 
till  he  was  quite  warm,  and  as  a  last  resource  seize  and  ring  an 
auctioneer's  bell  which  stood  before  him.  However  he  would 
not  suffer  if  he  could  help  it  anybody  to  interrupt  another  in 
speaking,  yet  he  broke  in  himself  with  his  opinion  wherever  he 
liked  and  at  one  time  he  and  Gloel  were  addressing  most  vehe- 
mently the  two  sides  of  the  house  at  the  same  time. 

Though  this  assembly  was  quite  a  choice  one,  though  they 
felt  themselves  closely  united  by  Christian  love  and  mutual  Chris- 
tian interests,  though  politeness,  friendship  and  affection  com- 
bined to  render  their  action  harmonious  and  their  expressions 
mild  and  conciliating,  yet  it  was  impossible  to  keep  wholly  out 
of  view  the  evidences  of  the  fact  which  here  made  its  appearance 
as  a  universal  one — as  one  connected  with  Christian  humanity 
in  its  most  general  relations — ^namely  the  divisions  into  an  Au- 
gustinian  and  a  Pelagian  party;  a  stern,  unflinching  truth-telling, 
and  a  lax,  conciliating,  construction-interpreting  party;  a  practical 
and  a  theoretical  party. 

The  great  island  which  divided  the  waters,  was  the  question 
of  verbal  inspiration.  .  .  . 

All  went  at  4  o'clock  to  dinner  and  left  the  large,  plain,  but 
pretty  church  to  solitude.  It  stands  on  one  side  of  the  centre 
square,  with  the  brothers'  house  on  one  side  and  the  sisters'  on 
the  other.  Opposite  the  latter  was  the  house  in  which  we  lived, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  street  towards  the  windmills  the  tavern, 


i845  SWITZERLAND  AND   GERMANY  131 

the  rooms  of  which  were  full  of  guests,  sitting  at  a  table  and 
listening  to  a  paper  read  by  a  brother  standing  in  a  doorway. 
Tholuck  came  in  and  asked  me  if  I  would  come  to  dinner  with 
him — I  had  dined  at  one  o'clock. 

Promenading,  supper,  and  discussion  with  the  Frau  superin- 
tendent from  Halle  (who  gave  us  some  nonsense  out  of  her  late 
Hegelian  studies  upon  the  glories  after  death)  closed  the  evening, 
after  that  a  former  Moravian  minister  who  had  regained  his 
speech  (and  used  it  well  in  questioning  us)  had  taken  a  seat 
among  us,  and  conducted  the  family  worship  by  reading  a  verse 
or  two,  and  notes  thereon  out  of  an  Andachtbuch,  and  praying 
sitting.  Singing  preceded  and  followed.  The  host  read  also  a 
chapter  of  mysticism  from  Zinzendorf. 

We  all  went  to  bed  with  headaches,  and  thoroughly  worn  out 
by  the  unusual  excitement  of  the  day. 

As  the  time  for  his  return  to  America  approaches,  he  finds 
he  has  acquired  several  strong  friendships  among  his  daily 
companions,  and  he  looks  forward  with  regret  to  leaving 
them.  His  journal  is  full  of  mentions  of  "Lyman"  and 
"Roby,"  "Gould,"  "Mrs.  Perston"  and  "Wandel."  Of 
the  two  latter  he  writes  with  especial  affection.  "Why  we 
should  have  felt  so  'innig'  for  each  other  and  why  we  should 
not  have  discovered  it  sooner  is  equally  a  mystery  to  me," 
he  writes  of  Wandel. 

There  were  farewell  calls  on  his  masters,  also,  Tholuck 
and  Ulrici:  "Prof.  Tholuck,  whose  parting  greeting  was 
affecting, — *Ah,  you  have  a  thranen  Leben  before  you,  and 
none  can  tell  what  that  is  better  than  I.' " 

On  the  2ist  of  April  he  left  Halle  "forever,"  as  he  re- 
gretfully writes. 

Before  leaving  Halle,  he  had  begun  to  think  of  associating 
himself  with  the  American  Tract  Society,  as  is  evidenced 
by  several  expressions  in  his  journal: — 

Apr.  17. — I  was  surprised  by  a  message  from  Prof.  Tholuck, 
and  found  there  a  Reverend  Mr.  Nast,  Meth.  German  minister 
in  Cincinnati,  ...  an  old  friend  and  classmate  of  Strauss;  con- 
verted by  the  Methodists;  founder  of  the  ist  Methodist  church 
in  Cincinnati  and  the  selecter  of  the  German  colporteurs  for  the 
Tract  Society. 


132  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  vi 

Apr.  21. — Just  before  leaving  [Halle]  I  received  a  letter 
from  Dr.  Alexander  [of  Princeton]  in  which  he  gives  me  expecta- 
tions of  an  arrangement  for  me  with  the  Tract  Society. 

After  leaving  Halle,  he  went  by  way  of  Quedlinburg,  the 
Ross  Trappe,  Ilsenburg,  and  Brunswick  to  Bremen. 

April  21. — .  .  .  The  view  of  Quedlinburg  from  the  cutting 
in  the  hill  for  the  great  Chaussee  (where  I  was  reprimanded  for 
springing  over  the  drain  to  examine  the  rocks  of  pure  white 
friable  sand)  is  striking.  It  lies  in  the  wide  shallow  valley  of 
the  Bode;  the  Hartz  mountain  line  in  view  on  the  south;  as  you 
descend,  two,  three,  then  four  and  five  picturesque  churches, 
with  high  roofs  and  single  or  double  towers,  appear  straggling 
along  the  long  line  of  thick-set  houses,  in  the  walls;  and  finally 
on  the  extreme  right,  the  really  extensive  mass  of  buildings,  not 
very  easy  to  decipher  out,  and  called  the  Schloss  or  palace.  .  .  . 

But  on  the  way  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a  stork  in  its 
nest  on  the  peak  of  a  low  tower  in  one  of  the  villages.  My  com- 
panion narrated  a  little  story  of  a  stork  on  the  Rhine.  Shot  in 
the  wing  by  a  boy,  healed  and  tamed,  which  on  being  let  go  had 
a  silver  medal  slung  upon  its  neck  saying,  "this  stork  summered 
so  and  so  on  the  Rhine."  Next  spring  it  returned  with  a  gold 
medal  in  French  saying  "this  stork  wintered  here  in  Algeria, 
such  and  such  a  year." 

Another  story  he  told  was  of  Tholuck  and  his  meeting  the 
Ethiopian  on  the  Rhine.  Tholuck  addressed  him  in  14  languages 
and  was  answered  (as  fluently,  sometimes  more  so)  in  all  except 
Latin  and  ancient  Greek.  And  he  talked  with  all  his  soul.  He 
had  been  made  a  captive  when  a  boy,  taken  to  court,  then  to 
England  and  then  travelled  as  a  "commercial  man"  over  Europe. 

Tuesday,  April  22,  1845  (Ross  Trappe). — Rose  about  five. 
Another  glorious  day.  Walked  out  and  sketched  the  Schloss, 
built  on  an  isolated  knob  of  rock  at  the  southern  extremity  of 
the  town.  .  .  . 

Here  to  my  infinite  delight,  and  after  I  had  lost  all  hope  of  it, 
as  we  were  walking  through  the  noble  avenues  of  great  and  closely 
set  linden-trees,  we  heard,  in  a  thicket  to  the  left,  the  Schlag  of 
a  nightingale,  and  after  following  some  of  the  paths  and  making 
a  circuit,  stood  some  time  listening  to  the  little  fellow's  hilarious 
music.  By  imitating  we  could  get  the  Schlag  now  and  then  from 
him.     This  is  a  prelude  note,  clear,  sweet,  melancholy  and  re- 


i845  SWITZERLAND  AND  GERMANY  133 

peated  4,  5,  6  times  either  on  the  same  note,  or  descending  and 
then  running  off  into  trills  and  fancy  bars,  or  imitations  of  other 
birds.  The  place  upon  the  scale  is  determined  by  the  age  of  the 
bird;  the  older  the  bird  the  deeper  the  tone  of  the  Schlag.  When 
in  twilight  and  solitude,  it  enters  the  heart  of  the  listener,  filling 
it  with  melancholy.  The  little  fellow  we  were  examining  could 
scarcely  be  induced  to  utter  it  at  all,  or  more  than  once  or  twice 
at  a  time;  but  kept  up  an  incessant  and  most  joyous  carolling, 
composed  of  a  great  variety  of  sweet  and  full-toned  notes,  so  simi- 
lar to  those  of  our  catbird  that,  had  I  not  known  I  was  in  Germany 
and  listening  to  a  nightingale,  I  should  have  asserted  confidently 
that  they  came  from  the  catbird's  throat.  One  carol  made  me 
cry  that  the  bird  had  been  to  America,  for  I  had  heard  it  a  thou- 
sand times  in  our  woods  and  quite  unaltered.  Many  of  the  notes 
were  very  similar  to  those  of  our  wood  robin's  call, "  pee-ye-a-weet," 
in  the  fulness,  sweetness,  clearness  and  exactness  of  the  intonation. 
After  listening  to  him  for  some  time,  and  hearing  one  or  two 
others,  who  were  also  enlivening  (with  a  multitude  of  other  birds) 
the  thickets  between  the  avenues,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
while  we  have  the  wood  robin  and  the  catbird  we  need  never 
give  one  sigh  for  the  absence  of  the  nightingale.  The  difference 
between  them  is  nothing,  or  so  little  that  one  is  in  dilemma 
which  to  prefer.  .  .  . 

Thursday,  April  24,  1845. — To  Brunswick. 

Friday,  April  25,  1845  (Brunswick). — ^Wrote  all  the  morn- 
ing. At  12  o'clock  had  my  baggage  expedirt  to  Hanover,  intend- 
ing to  go  in  the  Viertel  auf  Zwei  train.  .  .  . 

At  7  rode  over  to  Hanover  in  a  covered  but  open-sided  third- 
class  car.  .  .  . 

Saturday  morning  arrived  in  Bremen. 

Sailed  from  Bremerhaven  May  9  in  a  ship. 

And  now,  just  as  he  had  reached  the  end  of  his  foreign 
trip,  he  became  suddenly  violently  homesick,  so  ill,  indeed, 
that  he  spent  some  of  this  last  week  in  bed, — a  curious  experi- 
ence which  he  used  to  tell  us  of  in  later  years  with  amuse- 
ment. 

Landed  about  June  21,  after  a  voyage  of  six  weeks. 


CHAPTER  Vn 

Life  as  a  Colporteur.    1845 

Returned  from  his  foreign  trip,  my  father,  now  equipped 
with  the  German  language,  prepared  himself  to  take  up 
his  chosen  missionary  labors  among  the  secluded  Pennsyl- 
vania farms  and  villages  of  the  poor  German  settlers. 

For  this  purpose  he  put  himself  into  communication 
with  the  American  Tract  Society,  and  received  presently 
an  appointment  as  a  colporteur  in  that  association. 

In  later  years  I  think  he  did  not  much  care  to  dwell 
on  this  portion  of  his  life,  probably  because  his  theological 
views  had  undergone  a  complete  revolution.  Therefore, 
I  shall  copy  small  portions  only  of  the  letters  written  this 
year,  although  to  leave  it  entirely  unrecorded  would  be 
to  omit  a  notable  year  of  varied  experiences.  He  used 
often  to  speak  of  the  physical  aspects  of  this  period,  of  the 
long  solitary  rides  through  the  forest,  the  chance  meetings 
with  other  wanderers,  his  preaching  two  or  three  times  of 
a  Sunday  in  some  village  church  or  school-house,  often 
holding  services  during  the  week-days  whenever  a  little 
company  could  be  gathered  together  to  listen  to  "the  word 
of  God."  I  wish  we  had  some  record  of  that  preaching 
from  the  lips  of  the  young  enthusiast,  who  burned  with  a 
missionary  zeal  for  his  kind.  He  came  to  them  with  his 
heart  on  fire  and  his  mind  full  of  the  visions  of  a  varied 
experience,  and  stimulated  to  intellectual  activity  by  his 
recent  contact  with  so  many  of  the  great  theological  teachers 
of  the  time. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  a  year  of  this  arduous 
and  vivid  work  was  enough  to  wear  out  his  strength  both 
of  body  and  spirit,  so  that  he  was  forced  to  seek  a  less  exact- 
ing occupation. 

New  York,  Sept.  25,  1845.    To  his  Father. 

...  I  am  unfortunately  pinned  here  for  at  least  two  weeks 
longer.     I    have  books   to  examine,   addresses   to  write,   and 

134 


i84S  LIFE  AS  A  COLPORTEUR  135 

meetings  to  attend.  I  will  then  go  through  Philadelphia  to 
Lebanon,  and  after  stopping  there  two  or  three  weeks  pass 
on  to  Huntingdon  Co.,  and  make  a  beginning.  They*  have 
treated  me  in  a  most  satisfactory  and  gratifying  manner. 
Several  of  us  addressed  a  very  large  audience  at  the  Tabernacle, 
last  Sunday  night.  The  society  have  been  looking  rather  to 
the  good  they  might  do  than  the  means  of  doing  it,  and  have 
now  150  men  out.  The  donations  in  the  next  seven  months 
must  amount  to  $80,000,  and  as  $60,000  has  been  the  yearly 
receipt  of  the  Society  an  extra  effort  must  now  be  made  by  all 
hands.  The  evidences  of  the  divine  blessing  have  been  very 
numerous,  and  we  have  proof,  of  the  most  sterling  quality,  that 
Bishop  Hughes  and  his  peers  dread  the  movements  of  the  Col- 
porteurs in  the  West  as  they  dread  nothing  else. 

They  told  me  to  fix  my  own  salary,  but  in  view  of  all  things 
I  thought  best  to  claim  only  the  support  allowed  to  Colporteurs, 
— $150  and  my  expenses  paid.  This  with  economy  ought  to 
supply  my  wants,  and  when  the  society's  funds  are  in  better 
case  I  will  if  needful  ask  and  receive  more.  They  wished  to 
name  me  general  agent  for  the  Appalachian  range,  but  I  told 
them  to  wait  awhile  and  give  me  a  commission  as  Colporteur, 
and  see  if  I  was  fit  for  a  more  extended  operation.  The  vast- 
ness  and  importance  of  the  work  I  never  saw  rightly  until  yes- 
terday afternoon,  when  I  felt  myself  suddenly  crushed  down 
by  it,  and  could  scarcely  command  myself;  but  I  see  the  diffi- 
culty of  exposing  its  magnitude  to  others.  The  Lord  grant  me 
strength  to  perform  the  work,  and  make  me,  not  noted,  but 
notable  for  energy,  comprehensive  views  and  straightforward 
piety.  I  feel  now  that  lor  me  there  is  nothing  but  this  worth 
living  for.  If  this  is  to  be  my  life-work  the  feeling  is  a  good  one. 
If  not — it  will  find  its  future  correction  and  be  replaced  by  an- 
other.    It  is  unspeakably  good  to  be  laboring  for  Christ.  .  .  . 

October  2.    To  his  Father. 

I  have  been  to  Staten  Island  and  to  Hoboken.  But  I 
must  confess  that  it  gives  me  no  pleasure.  I  feel  no  satis- 
faction in  anything  which  I  used  [to]  love.  Even  the  pleas- 
ures of  friendship  have  become  tasteless,  and  I  live  as  if  I 
lived  not.  One  thought  occupies  me  day  and  night.  I  would 
not  be  weary  of  the  world,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I  have  not 
lived  intemperately,  and  yet  I   am  thoroughly  Uase^   with  all 

*  American  Tract  Society,  I  suppose. 


136  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vii 

the  things  that  others  seem  to  enjoy.  Oh,  if  I  can  only  do  some- 
thing! How  willingly  I  would  die  this  moment!  And  yet  I 
would  consent  to  live  a  hundred  thousand  years  if  I  could  only 
see  some  results  that  would  not  seem  to  be  utterly  unprofitable, 
as  those  of  the  lives,  thoughts,  and  actions  of  the  mass  of  man- 
kind. And  it  is  so  hard  to  do  good.  I  sometimes  think,  dear 
Father,  that  I  am  the  laziest  man  alive.  You  love  to  work.  I 
hate  work.  I  hate  to  think,  for  it  is  such  a  weariness  to  the 
flesh.  Nothing  but  the  incessant  conviction  of  duty  moves  me 
from  the  delightful  repose  of  doing  nothing.  Verily  all  my 
strength  must  come  from  Him,  wherever  others  may  get  theirs. 
Every  day  makes  plainer  to  me  too  the  imbecility  of  my  intel- 
lect, when  compared  with  that  of  the  head  workers  among  the 
people.  I  can't  originate  thought.  There  is  no  difficulty  in 
receiving  impressions — catching  ideas — clapping  them  down 
on  paper, — but  when  it  comes  to  issuing  one's  own  thoughts, 
and  filling  and  moving  other  people's  minds — then  comes  the 
trouble.  I  donH  want  fame.  That  desire  has  been  crushed  out 
of  me.  But  I  do  want  to  be  useful;  not  to  revolve  like  a  black 
mass  through  space  round  the  sun,  without  giving  a  ray  of 
light  to  any  living  thing.  It's  horrible,  such  a  fate.  Thank 
God,  things  can  burn,  if  they  can't  shine;  and  if  I  ever  excited 
one  feeling  of  pure  love,  that's  something, — almost  equal  to 
having  aroused  a  true  thought.    Isn't  it?  .  .  . 

This  letter  was  evidently  written  out  of  an  hour  of  the 
depression  which  was  always  apt  to  follow  a  period  of  over- 
activity and  intellectual  enjoyment.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
the  social  occasions  of  those  days  in  New  York,  while  wait- 
ing to  set  forth  on  his  mission,  were  harder  for  his  spirit 
than  the  weeks  and  months  of  actual  toil  which  followed. 

Chambersburg,  November  i.    To  his  Father. 

...  I  have  been  much  occupied  in  visiting  and  writing  ser- 
mons. To-morrow  I  preach  twice,  and  have  appointments  for 
Monday,  Tuesday,  and  Wednesday  evenings  at  Mercersburg  and 
Greencastle.    Then  I  go  direct  to  Lebanon.  .  .  . 

POTTSVILLE,  Nov.   17,   1845.      To  HIS   FATHER. 

...  I  addressed  a  huge  Sabbath  School  (Pres.)  yesterday, 
and  will  address  their  prayer  meeting  to-night,  the  Lord  wiUing. 
May  he  bless  his  own  cause  in  this  important  field!     Great  cour- 


1846  LIFE  AS  A  COLPORTEUR  137 

age — ^great  confidence  in  the  teachings  of  God's  providence  as  to 
duty,  is  requisite  in  going  forward.  I  was  thoroughly  exhausted 
last  night,  so  that  it  was  a  pain  to  utter  a  word;  but  I  went  to  bed 
early  and  slept  late  and  intend  to  rest  as  much  as  possible  to-day, 
and  so  feel  refreshed.  But  what  rest  can  a  man  get  in  such 
a  work?  He  can't  rest  if  he  would.  It  is  drive,  drive,  all  day 
and  every  day.  He  gets  no  sabbath  on  Sunday,  and  can't  find 
the  heart  to  take  one  on  a  week-day;  and  it's  not  until  he  sud- 
denly breaks  down  that  he  discovers  the  drain  he  has  been  mak- 
ing of  his  strength.  The  more  I  see  and  do,  the  more  convinced 
I  am  that  I  am  in  my  way  of  duty,  and  by  many  mistakes  I 
am  learning  the  modus  operandi.  Oh  for  thorough  and  untiring 
self-devotion!  I  am  willing  to  be  nothing,  but  not  to  do  noth- 
ing. .  .  . 

Bellefonte,  Jan.  9,  1846.    To  his  Father. 

I  have  more  than  hand  and  head  can  accomplish  every  day 
to  do,  and  scarcely  know  which  way  to  turn  me.  Just  arrived 
by  stage  from  Lewistown,  and  addressed  a  prayer  meeting,  and 
now  write  answers  to  half  a  dozen  letters,  and  expect  to  leave 
in  the  three  o'clock  a.m.  stage  for  Hublersburg,  to  preach  for 
Mr.  Cooper  on  Sabbath. 

Jan.  II. 

.  .  .  Made  many  friends  in  Mififlin.  Organized  a  Society. 
Expect  to  be  there  again  on  the  22nd,  and  return  to  Bellefonte 
the  next  day. — At  Potter's  Mills  (Centre  Co.)  on  the  i8th  and 
Bellefonte  from  23rd-2  7th. 

After  that,  can't  tell  where:  wish  to  go  to  the  new  settle- 
ment of  St.  Mary's  in  Elk  Co.  (near  Ridgway),  and  then  per- 
haps down  the  West  Branch.— Will  keep  you  advised. 

Whether  all  this  labor  and  pains  shall  prove  productive  or 
not,  is  to  be  seen  yet.  It  is  essentially  experimental,  and  shall 
have  a  full  trial.  I  long  to  see  you,  with  a  great  longing,  but 
dare  not.  Don't  ask  me  to  come  until  I  feel  permitted.  When 
I  can,  I  will  with  wings,  and  hope  to  spend  a  month  at  home. . . . 

Potter's  Mills,  Jan.  17,  1846.    To  his  Stepmother. 

.  .  .  Preaching  five  or  six  times  a  week  is  not  often  called  for. 
I  feel  a  little  weak  but  otherwise  pretty  well.  Am  exciting  an 
interest  in  the  county,  and  have  every  prospect  of  succeeding 
in  getting  these  wealthy  farmers  and  iron-masters  to  support 
the  good  work  among  their  own  hills.  I  love  dearly  to  lay 
their  duty  before  them  and  see  how  earnest  and  solemn   they 


138  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vii 

become,  and  put  their  names  or  their  money  down  afterwards, 
as  though  the  eye  of  God  was  looking  into  their  motives.  .  .  . 
Thursday  night  I  walked  down  the  pike  from  Bellefonte  to  Miles- 
burg,  through  the  Gap,  and  met  a  little  Baptist  party  at  a  prayer 
meeting  in  the  school-house.  They  gave  me  nearly  $8  in  small 
sums.  I  have  a  fine  opportunity  of  warning  the  young  against 
reading  bad  books;  and  I  seldom  let  it  slip.  I  heard,  a  few 
hours  ago,  of  a  young  schoolmistress,  about  the  West  Branch  I 
believe,  who  regularly  received  the  numbers  of  the  Wandering 
Jew,  and  distributed  them  without  thought  to  any  of  her  schol- 
ars who  requested  them.  Satan's  agents  are  more  active  than 
Christ's. 

I  wish  you  could  see  me  from  day  to  day,  how  happily  I 
find  myself  in  the  households  of  the  good  people.  The  only 
trouble  is  that  I  am  too  much  among  the  rich  and  well  educated, 
and  therefore  too  well  used.  We  are  all  apt  to  grow  conceited 
and  selfish,  when  assiduously  cared  for  and  politely  listened  to. 
One  is  tempted  to  indulge  taste  among  the  refined,  at  the  expense 
of  duty  to  the  unrefined.  .  .  . 

Fort  Plain,  N.Y.,  March  23,  1846.    To  his  Stepmother. 

...  I  preached  for  the  Dr.  yesterday  morning  and  listened 
to  him  in  the  evening.  He  speaks  parables,  and  never  explains 
them;  enunciates  general  principles,  and  never  applies  them. 
So  when  the  people  want  bread,  he  feeds  them  with  stones. 
How  sad  it  makes  one  feel  to  see  it!  It  is  consoling  to  reflect 
that  the  greater  number  of  preachers  preach  righteousness  and 
truth:  and  though  with  various  shades  of  purity,  and  under  the 
influence  of  many  different  motives,  mostly  Christ  is  preached, 
and  souls  are  saved — "and  therein  do  I  rejoice." 

New  York,  April  21,  1846.    To  his  Father. 

.  .  .  Four  of  the  sixty  Theological  students  at  New  Haven 
will  spend  the  vacation  in  our  work,  and  this  excites  an  interest 
in  it  there  which  I  hope  shall  prove  permanent  for  good.  If 
this  system  shall  have  no  other  effect  upon  our  religious  and  cleri- 
cal community  than  that  of  making  them  known  and  spreading 
and  confirming  a  Harlan  Page  spirit,  and  reviving  general  zeal 
in  the  work  of  pastoral  visitation  and  private  appeal,  it  will  be 
worth  all  our  efforts;  but  I  am  happily  now  at  the  focus  of  in- 
telligence, and  letters  from  Colporteurs  in  every  state  of  the  Union 
pass  through  my  hands  giving  intelligence  of  personal  hopeful 
conversions,  of  revivals,  and  of  general  elevating   movements, 


1846  LIFE  AS  A  COLPORTEUR  139 

especially  in  the  most  neglected  districts,  brought  about  by  their 
dissemination  of  Bibles  and  books,  that  make  me  very  happy. 
It  is,  I  am  well  convinced,  a  chosen  agent  — a  machine  of  yet  un- 
known capabilities,  rapidly  developing  its  powers  for  good  and 
removing  doubts  of  abuse,  and  predicting  great  things  for  our 
beloved  land. 

My  visit  was  a  most  pleasant  one  [to  New  Haven].  I  spent 
most  of  my  time  with  my  friend  W.  and  found  it  as  always, 
an  intellectual  treat  of  no  ordinary  kind.  I  have  confirmed 
some  slowly  arrived  at  general  principles,  and  received  light  con- 
cerning others.  His  mind  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  is  becoming 
gradually  more  symmetrical;  his  views  more  clear  and  true, 
and  I  hope  the  thought  of  the  Sovereignty  of  grace,  the  necessity 
of  instant  prayer  and  the  blessing  of  a  Mediator,  are  becoming 
more  and  more  appreciable  to  him.  He  is  a  Platonist  and  one  of 
the  beings  of  pure  thought  that,  if  they  ever  enter  the  Kingdom 
of  Heaven,  are  carried  to  the  wicket  gate  by  a  roundabout  path 
through  the  air.  Such  was  the  celebrated  Schleiermacher  of 
Berlin,  the  instrument  wherewith  God  slew  the  gross  Rationalism 
of  the  first  decade  of  our  Century,  but  who  wandered  in  regions 
of  strange  intellectual  light  and  strange  spiritual  darkness,  and 
died  upon  one  little  rock  in  the  midst  of  the  raging  sea — that 
little  sentence  of  the  Lord's — "Him  that  cometh  unto  me,  I  will 
in  no  wise  cast  out."  "It  is  all  darkness  round  me,"  said  he, 
"and  that  verse  is  my  only  hope."  "Not  many  wise" — and 
they  come  unto  the  little  gate  and  have  all  their  fine  robes  torn  off 
in  the  passing  through.     Blessed  are  the  intellectually  meek. 

Little  Pine  Creek,  Aug.  1,  1846.    To  his  Father. 

We  have  through  the  mercy  of  God  brought  an  arduous 
week  to  a  close,  but  have  enjoyed  it  as  much  as  any  previous 
one.  Leaving  Jersey  Shore  and  the  open  valley  of  the  Sus- 
quehanna by  the  way  of  Lurge  (?)  creek  and  visiting  as  we 
went,  we  entered  the  Alleghany  by  the  gorge  of  Hogland's 
run,  which  issues  three  miles  west  of  the  outburst  of  the  magnifi- 
cent valley  of  the  Lycoming,  of  which  with  its  buttressed  sides 
of  semi-alpine  aspect  we  had  a  noble  view.  At  half-past  seven 
we  left  the  house  at  the  mouth  of  Hogland  run  valley.  At  three 
P.M.  we  reached  the  "old  Cogan  house,"  eight  miles  distant. 
Here,  overcome  with  fatigue,  we  got  for  dinner  a  bowl  of  bread 
and  milk,  and  were  then  told  that  the  freshets  of  last  spring 
had  torn  out  all  the  bridges  along  Lick  Run,  and  to  reach  Pine 
Creek  was  impossible.    We  must  retrace  our  steps,  and  ascend 


140  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  vii 

the  main  creek  from  Jersey  Shore.  This  we  determined  never 
to  do.  To  go  round  forty  miles  to  reach  a  place  only  six  miles 
distant!  You  know  I  am  not  easily  frightened  from  a  purpose. 
So  next  morning  early,  (we  visited  the  settlement  the  previous 
afternoon)  we  started  with  two  men  with  axes,  and  cut  and 
bridged  our  way  down  the  run.  When  we  stood  at  length  on 
the  rich  bottoms  of  the  First  Fork,  its  magnificent  dome-shaped 
mountains  rising  in  all  directions,  and  the  wilderness  of  the  Cogan 
Valley  behind  us, — I  assure  you  it  was  like  waking  from  an  un- 
pleasant dream  on  a  beautiful  morning.  We  felt  thankful  that 
our  wagon  stood  it  without  flinching;  it  must  be  excellently  built. 
But  what  magnificent  woods  those  are  through  which  we  passed! 
How  I  would  like  to  take  a  thousand  of  those  magnificent  pines 
and  build  a  cathedral  of  them!  One  could  do  it  easily,  and 
put  up  such  a  house  that  all  the  world  would  tour  it  up  the  West 
Branch.  The  depth  of  shade  and  utter  silence  of  the  original 
forest,  as  it  seems  to  breathe  in  an  eternal  slumber,  strikes  the 
soul  with  a  certain  awe,  as  well  as  admiration.  And  the  rising 
of  the  pines  is  somxCthing  quite  sublime.  And  every  now  and 
then,  one,  that  has  stood  its  time,  comes  thundering  down,  and 
the  echo  of  its  crash  makes  the  traveller  pause  and  listen,  hardly 
understanding  the  mysterious  sound,  in  the  profound  abysses 
of  the  Mountain  depths,  by  the  mouth  of  which  he  is  passing.  .  .  . 

My  father  often  spoke  in  later  years  of  this  sound  of  the 
falling  of  great  trees,  breaking  the  absolute  silence  of  night 
in  the  primeval  forest.  His  life,  both  now  in  this  early 
time  and  later  in  his  professional  field  work,  often  occa- 
sioned him  to  spend  his  nights  in  the  forest,  sometimes 
entirely  alone.  These  were  experiences  of  which  he  never 
lost  the  memory.  Something  of  poetry  and  of  solitude 
was  in  them,  which  suited  the  instincts  of  his  spirit. 

Monday  morning  (Henry  Tomb's). — ^This  is  a  little  oasis.  I 
preached  yesterday  twice,  and  felt  much  freedom,  and  was  heard 
with  attention.  I  reasoned  on  "Judgment  to  come,"  in  the  fore- 
noon in  a  httle  school-house  back  in  the  woods.  In  the  afternoon, 
urged  the  claims  of  the  Sabbath. 

Caexisle,  Nov.  23,  1846.    To  his  Stepmother. 

I  received  your  kind  letter  addressed  to  Milton  (Pa.).  One 
has   since   come   to  my   hand   from   Mr.  Rogers,  and  meeting 


1846  LIFE  AS  A  COLPORTEUR  141 

some  wishes  that  I  expressed  to  you  when  last  at  home,  has 
determined  my  action  this  winter.  He  requests  me  to  aid  him 
in  preparing  to  present  his  report  to  the  Legislature  in  the 
spring  in  its  final  form,  and  offers  me  great  facilities  for  study 
and  observation,  and  $400  for  my  services  for  the  four  months. 
The  lectures  will  be  free  to  me,  and  the  libraries  and  the  best 
scientific  and  philosophical  society  of  that  city  [Boston].  You 
may  estimate  the  advantages  I  can  embrace  with  his  offer. 

It  grieves  me  to  leave  my  home.  But  what  comfort  can  I 
have  of  home  or  home  of  me  should  I  stay  in  these  bleak  moun- 
tains all  winter?  And  you  see  how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to 
run  home  every  week.     I  have  already  been  seven  weeks  away.  .  .  . 

I  meet  with  amiable  people  everywhere.  Prof.  McClintock 
greeted  me  as  a  college  mate  should.  He  has  a  capacious  mind 
and  means  to  go  to  Germany  to  spend  two  years  in  study  there. 
They  have  kept  me  talking  about  my  travels  here  until  I  am 
positively  ashamed  to  look  a  plain  body  in  the  face,  and  got  so 
tired  in  the  muscles  of  my  bellows  that  I  could  scarcely  speak 
above  my  breath.  It  is  poor  business  at  which  a  man  grows  poor. 
I  hope  to  do  more  thinking  than  talking  the  next  four  months. 
This  arrangement  gave  me  much  anxious  thought  in  its  decision, 
but  I  feel  satisfied  it  is  the  best.  I  cannot  consent  needlessly  to 
suffer  as  I  did  last  winter,  and  the  work  can  be  as  well  carried 
on  in  spring  and  summer  as  in  winter. 

You  may  think  me  fickle,  but  to  change  in  the  external  is 
often  to  be  stationary  in  the  internal.  Some  people  are  stones, 
and  others  are  wheels.  All  I  ask  is  to  know  what  God's  will 
may  be.  .  .  . 

This  letter  marks  the  close  of  my  father's  short-lived  but 
earnest  and  devoted  missionary  labors.  He  was  worn  out 
with  his  arduous  year,  and  Professor  H.  D,  Rogers,  desiring 
help  in  making  a  map  of  Pennsylvania  showing  the  work  done 
by  the  First  Geological  Survey  cf  Pennsylvania,  offered  him 
the  opportunity  for  a  winter  of  quieter  work  in  Boston.  The 
decision  which  he  made  in  going  to  Boston  was  a  momen- 
tous one  for  him,  far  more  so  than  he  had  any  idea  of  when 
making  it. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

First  Year  in  Boston.    1847 

Arrived  in  Boston,  my  father  was  so  fortunate  as  to  be 
able  to  make  his  home  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  George  S.  Hillard. 
I  do  not  know  how  this  came  about,  but  suppose  that  it 
was  through  Professor  Rogers,  who  was  a  warm  friend  of 
the  Hillards,  and  probably  gave  his  former  assistant  some 
introduction  to  these  and  other  Eastern  friends.  At  any 
rate,  it  proved  in  many  ways  to  be  one  of  the  happiest  cir- 
cumstances of  his  life. 

For  a  man  of  my  father's  vividly  intellectual  type  to 
come  to  Boston  for  the  first  time,  and  to  be  at  once  thrown 
among  the  leaders  of  thought  in  every  line  of  modern  in- 
vestigation— literary,  moral,  and  scientific, — ^was  an  in- 
spiring experience.  It  was  in  the  days  when  Agassiz  had 
recently  come  from  his  Swiss  home  to  vivify  interest  in 
Natural  Science,  when  Emerson  was  charming  the  few  and 
making  anxious  the  many,  when  Theodore  Parker  was 
standing  boldly  for  liberty  of  thought  beyond  what  the 
Liberals  of  the  hour  thought  expedient,  when  Wendell 
Phillips  had  begun  to  thunder  eloquently  in  behalf  of  the 
slave,  and  Garrison  stood  ready  to  die  for  the  principles 
dear  to  his  heart.  Into  this  seething  yet  cheerful  life  my 
father,  the  young  orthodox  licentiate,  stepped,  and  felt 
some  astonishment  and  confusion  of  mind  at  what  he  daily 
saw  and  heard. 

The  older  days  of  Boston  have  often  been  described  by 
its  own  people.  This  is  a  record  of  its  impression  on  an 
outside  mind,  one  brought  up  away  from  Puritan  associa- 
tion, and  bringing  with  him  the  standards  and  traditions 
of  a  different  community. 

Boston,  Dec.  i6,  1846.    To  his  Stepmother. 

A  few  minutes,  and  the  clock  will  strike  for  Bishop 
Potter's  lecture,  and  I  must  go  early  if  I   desire  a  seat.     You 

142 


i847  FIRST  YEAR  IN  BOSTON  143 

would  be  amazed  at  the  immense  audiences  of  these  Lowell 
Lectures.  There  are  four  lecturers  this  winter  (Rogers,  Potter, 
Agassiz  and  Hillard).  Each  gives  twelve  lectures,  and  re- 
ceives $1200  for  them.     They  ought  to  be  good,  you  say.  .  .  . 

What  a  contrast, — Boston  and  the  Woods!  And  I  assure 
you  I  feel  charmingly  contented  and  happy;  as  much  at  home  in 
three  hours  after  getting  into  my  room  as  I  could  expect  to  be- 
come in  three  years.  If  you  were  all  only  within  pleasant  walk- 
ing distance. 

Boston,  Jan.  3,  1847.    To  his  Father  and  Stepmother. 

A  happy  New  Year  and  great  grace  for  every  time  of  need. 
God  has  graciously  preserved  my  health  under  very  severe 
pressure  of  work,  and  given  me  to-day,  my  first  day  of  rest, 
which  was  greatly  needed  and  greatly  enjoyed.  I  heard  a  Mr. 
Phelps  to-day  on  Washington  St.,  that  runs  through  the  neck. 
And  this  evening  attended  a  concert  of  prayer,  where  3000  were 
present,  and  most  wishy-washy  addresses  given.  The  ministerial 
talent  here  is  at  freezing  point.  Kirk  and  Dr.  Beecher  are  the 
only  two  men  who  preach  like  GoUeshelden — great  hearts,  p.m. 
strayed  into  a  Unitarian  church  without  knowing  it. 

Boston,  Jan.  18,  1847  [Pinckney  Street].    To  his  Stepmother. 

I  store  up  many  interesting  things  for  my  home  letters  from 
day  to  day,  but  when  I  sit  down  to  write,  the  accumulated 
mass  vanishes  tout  ensemble,  and  leaves  my  pages  as  blank  as 
a  hermit's  ought  to  be.  Boston  is  by  no  means  dull,  and  I 
see  some  of  its  interesting  people  now  and  then,  but  find 
little  that  is  good  evidence  of  decided  superiority  over  a 
Philadelphia  Society.  Indeed,  our  street  throngs  have  beyond 
doubt  the  advantage  in  manners  and  appearance.  It  is  a 
beautiful  sight  to  see  on  Sabbath  morning  the  multitudes  fill 
these  narrow  streets,  until  they  become  like  embryonic  tissues 
permitting  one  universal  reticulated  blood  circulation.  The  bells 
here  ring  at  eight  a.m.  for  the  working  people,  and  again  at  one, 
and  then  the  curfew  rings  at  nine  at  night,  to  warn  the  folks  of 
bed.  Every  evening  however  just  as  we  are  all  completely  fixed 
around  the  centre  table,  Hillard  comes  dovsm,  haggard  and  sleepy 
from  his  Miltonic  studies,  little  lamp  in  hand,  and  gazes  at  us. 
"Well,  my  dearly  beloved  Owls,  isn't  it  time  to  go  to  bed?" 
Some  one  looks  at  his  watch  and  finds  it  eleven  o'clock — "Oh, 
no,  not  yet!"    So  he  throws  himself  upon  a  lounge,  or  takes  his 


144  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  vni 

departure,  as  he  feels  inclined,  and  we  betake  ourselves  again  to 
Rymer  Jones,  "Hyperion,"  the  American  Quarterly,  and  Opie's 
"White  Lies,"  and  about  half-past  eleven  begin  to  gap,  and  about 
twelve  to  move,  and  at  half -past  twelve  are  all  reproducing  with- 
out and  beyond  law  what  before  was  presented  to  us  under  the 
strictest  law, — in  plain  English,  are  dreaming, — and  rise  at  eight. 
This  quite  suits  me.  Are  you  not  dumbfounded  ?  It  is  however 
even  so.  Agassiz  took  tea  with  us  and  amused  us  greatly.  He  is 
radiant  with  the  prospect  of  realizing  Davis'  invite  to  dredge, 
when  the  season  for  the  Coast  Survey  opens,  along  Nantasket. 
He  has  barrelled  up  thousands  of  fish  skeletons,  which  he  boiled 
down  at  Albany  and  New  York.  All  sorts  of  fish  are  welcome 
to  his  kettle. — Some  one  asked  very  earnestly  the  other  day  of 
one  of  his  messengers  where  A.  kept  shop.  Thought  perhaps 
he  had  opened  a  restaurant!  He  has  sent  out  standing  orders 
to  all  the  Michigan  hunters  for  all  they  can  send  in  of  wild.  He 
received  a  wild  turkey  from  Detroit  a  day  or  two  ago,  and  some 
fresh  fish  from  Lake  Ontario.  Wonderful  country  this!  He  has 
a  jolly  disposition:  declares  he  can't  learn  the  American  fashion 
of  doing  up  science  running — must  walk.  Says  the  fish  are  his 
prime  collectors,  sometimes  finds  two  or  three  shell-fish  in  one 
vertebral  fish,  more  or  less  decomposed,  and  generally  of  various 
species.     He  gives  his  last  lecture  next  Wednesday. 

Mitchell  of  Cincinnati  begins  his  Astronomical  lectures  tomor- 
row night.  Hillard  his  on  Milton  in  six  weeks.  Mrs.  Sedgwick 
will  be  here  to  see  us  in  a  few  days.  Went  to  the  top  of  the  Monu- 
ment. Enormous  structure,  fine  view.  But  what  a  pity  after  all 
that  it  is  hollow  and  has  windows  at  the  top!  It's  a  different 
monument  when  you  leave  it.  Its  virgin  dignity  is  gone.  Its 
construction  is  quite  admirable  however,  only  one  can't  help 
thinking  how  disagreeable  it  would  be  when  half-way  to  the  top 
to  be  caught  by  a  good  stout — earthquake! 

Boston,  and  its  dependences  (together  making  a  city  as  large 
as  Philadelphia — 240,000)  fringe  the  shores  of  this  cluster  of 
peninsulas,  and  make  the  scenery  enchanting,  even  in  winter. 

Heard  a  noble  sermon  from  Dr.  Beecher  yesterday.  I  have 
not  preached  for  two  Sabbaths,  needing  rest.  The  organ  stunned 
us,  and  was  played  quite  as  badly  as  omrs;  but  the  choir  was 
immense,  filling  a  large  gallery.  .  .  . 

Boston,  Feh.  8,  1847.    To  his  Father. 

.  ,  As  I  have  no  logical  order  in  mind  just  now  by 
which  to  arrange  my  how  d'ye  do,  you  will  not  object  to  that 


i847  FIRST  YEAR  IN  BOSTON  145 

last  expression  recalling  a  conversation  I  had  with  a  queer 
little  lady,  after  we  rose  from  table  the  other  day  from  a 
lively  discussion  upon  ethics  and  physics, — aright  and  wrong, 
nature,  law,  etc.  The  professor  carries  his  views  of  law  so  far 
that  he  oversteps  the  limits  of  a  clear  and  reasonable  estimation 
of  the  good  wrought  by  the  individual  atoms  in  the  mass  of 
the  community,  or  by  the  daily  and  hourly  performance  by  agents 
animate  and  inanimate  of  their  respective  functions  for  the  hap- 
piness of  all,  each  in  his  own  little  sphere,  and  therefore  none 
being  required  to  step  forth  from  his  sphere. 

I  say  he  carries  this  so  far  as  not  only  to  make  it  the  grand 
law  of  God's  providence  and  goodness  among  men,  but  to  make 
it  the  only  law,  not  even  allowing  that  extraordinary  spheres 
and  actions  and  agents  are  necessary — that  Howards  and  White- 
fields  and  Misses  Dix  did  or  do  more  good  than  if  they  each  had 
stayed  at  home  and  attended  to  their  personal  and  social  duties 
punctually.  In  short,  he  thinks  that  all  extra  effort  of  good 
people,  though  apparently  greatly  beneficial  and  dragging  the 
world  a  huge  step  forward  at  a  bound,  in  the  end,  has  given 
it  no  progress,  produced  for  it  no  stable  increase  of  real  happi- 
ness, or  made  it  truly  wiser  or  better.  This  little  lady.  Miss 
Metcalf,  sprang  from  table,  saying,  "Oh,  you  are  all  quite  too 
scientific  here;  one  knows  not  what  is  good,  or  right,  or  duty, 
or  possibility,  while  among  you ! "  and  we  went  upstairs.  When 
we  were  alone  around  the  register  in  the  parlor  she  said  to  me: 
"  Don't  you  feel  a  want  among  these  people  ?  are  you  not  frozen 
by  their  leaving  out  something  warm  and  hearty  in  all  their  con- 
versations and  disquisitions?"  I  told  her  I  was  truly  so,  missing 
heartily  the  supernatural.  "Yes,"  said  she;  "that  is  the  lacking; 
they  never  think  of  the  depravity  of  the  human  heart  being  the 
real  cause  of  the  world's  trouble,  nor  that  the  good  Holy  Spirit 
can  alone  regenerate  it.  Don't  you  find  the  Unitarians  a  very 
uncomfortable  people  to  talk  to?"  I  told  her,  yes!  I  was  con- 
tinually as  if  thrown  upon  the  broad  of  my  back,  by  some  re- 
mark which  I  felt  it  impossible  to  reply  to  without  an  explosion 
of  controversy  that  would  upturn  the  earth  under  foot,  and  go 
as  it  were  through  the  centres  of  ten  Worlds; — and  so  it  is,  dear 
Father.  I  really  do  not  know  what  to  make  of  them.  The 
Society  of  Boston  is  the  strangest  hasty  pudding  in  our  American 
world,  I  verily  believe.  Swedenborgians,  Unitarians  of  two 
schools  at  least.  Baptists  semi-orthodox, — fill  the  same  drawing- 
rooms,  while  Evangelical  Congregationalists  and  Baptists  form 
an   entirely   separate   community.    When   Mr.    Kirk   came   to 


146  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vm 

Boston  five  years  ago,  he  produced  a  profound  sensation,  con- 
verted hundreds  from  the  error  of  their  ways,  gathered  an  im- 
mense Church,  and  made  all  the  women  whom  he  wouldn't  visit, 
and  all  the  ministers  whom  he  robbed  of  parishioners,  his  enemies. 
The  women  got  up  a  story  to  hurt  his  moral  character;  the  pastors 
decried  his  preaching;  the  novelty  became  old;  his  huge  meet- 
ing-house was  completed,  and  remains  crowded;  but  his  popu- 
larity among  all  classes  has  died  away.  Great  numbers  of  Uni- 
tarians were  brought  to  a  saving  knowledge  of  the  truth  under 
his  preaching;  but  it  was  losing  caste  too  harshly  to  marry  the 
hangman's  daughter — to  take  a  Congregational  pew;  so  the  con- 
verted wife  or  husband,  or  father  or  child,  would  persuade  to  a 
half-way  step,  and  all  rushed  into  the  Episcopal  Church.  Dr. 
Vinton's  vestry  became  crowded,  and  a  third  powerful  element 
is  introduced  into  Boston  hfe,  viz.,  evangelical  Episcopalianism. 
A  schism  has  been  brought  about  in  the  Unitarian  ranks.  The 
harsh  old  school,  embittered  by  the  past,  and  abhorring  vital 
godliness,  accuse  Mr.  Clarke  [James  Freeman  Clarke]  and  others 
as  being  too  orthodox,  preaching  regeneration  and  repentance, 
faith  in  Christ  and  Christian  self-denial,  and  therefore  not  true 
genuine  Unitarians;  while  the  old  barriers  of  prejudice,  espe- 
cially of  social  caste  and  haul  et  has  ton  are  still  too  strong  to  be 
thrown  down  to  permit  the  latter  to  enter  the  Evangelical  bodies, 
even  if  they  could  look  upon  our  Redeemer  as  One  with  the 
Father,  as  well  as  Full  of  Grace  and  Truth.  .  .  . 

It  was  perhaps  in  reply  to  this  letter  that  my  grand- 
father wrote  to  his  son  February  18,  1847: — 

I  am  very  solicitous  about  your  exposure  to  being  drawn 
away  from  the  simplicity  of  the  Gospel  in  the  cold  Unitarian 
atmosphere  of  Boston — intellectual  and  learned  Boston.  Your 
only  safety  is  in  a  childlike  dependence  on  Christ  as  the  great 
teacher.  .  .  . 

To  which  my  father  answers: — 

Febrtiary  2^th. 

Your  fears  are  natural,  but  I  trust  groundless.  I  am  always 
cold  while  in  the  cold.  When  I  get  into  the  heat  again  I  shall 
be  warmed.  My  piety  has  always  been  more  intellectual  than 
cordial,  but  therefore  more  simple  and  permanent,  less  waver- 
ing,—more  principle,  less  feeling.     I  am  greatly  benefitting  by 


i847  FIRST  YEAR  IN  BOSTON  147 

my  present  intercourse  with  a  new  kind  of  people;  I  have  means 
of  observation  quite  as  important  as  any  elsewhere.  I  have 
unlimited  reliance  upon  Destiny,  i.e.,  Christ's  purposes  con- 
cerning me  as  one  of  his  little  ones.  I  trust  he  will  take  as  good 
care  of  all  whom  I  love.  Day  before  yesterday  we  all  came  to 
an  understanding  in  our  historical  Club.  I  read  a  paper  which 
excited  great  controversy,  and  I  was  forced  to  stand  upon  views 
against  all  the  rest,  but  in  the  end  was  glad  to  see  that  simplicity 
and  honesty  must  conquer  among  good  people  everywhere. 
Even  Mr.  Kirk  who  was  most  bent  upon  fixing  upon  me  the  re- 
proach of  scepticism,  when  it  came  to  his  turn  to  speak,  said  he 
should  no  longer  call  me  a  sceptic,  but  simply  "his  cautious 
friend"  and  begged  me  to  take  a  subject  among  the  rest.  I  have 
shoved  it  off  for  weeks,  but  was  forced  to  promise  to  write  upon 
Peter  the  Hermit,  and  the  Crusades.  What  I  read  them  was 
hastily  scratched  down  the  previous  evening.  It  took  me  three 
hours,  however,  after  I  had  already  written  and  drafted  seven 
hours  through  the  day.  Every  day  has  its  labors,  or  you  should 
hear  from  me  more  regularly. 

Another  letter,  written  March  14,  speaks  more  vig- 
orously still  of  the  cold  philosophy  of  the  Unitarian  utter- 
ances, of  Theodore  Parker's  preaching,  etc.,  adding: — 

I  do  not  doubt  that  the  experience  of  every  honest  child  of 
God's  truth  will  affirm  the  divinity  of  the  injunction  to  try  all 
things,  holding  fast  that  only  which  is  good,  avoiding  on  the  one 
hand  the  inane  superstition  and  high  Worldliness  of  Laud,  and 
on  the  other  the  one-sided,  short-sighted  scepticism  and  cool 
philosophy  of  Parker.  We  do  not  often  moot  these  vital  matters 
in  Pinckney  Street, — ^but  a  discussion  arose  at  dinner  table  to-day 
which  was  prolonged  upstairs  into  the  parlor,  and  embraced  the 
whole  ground  of  the  atonement  and  mission  of  the  Redeemer. 
Darkness  and  light,  oil  and  water  might  sooner  dwell  at  one 
together.  On  this  side  [the  Unitarian]  is  progress,  development, 
universal  capacity  for  good,  no  atonement  needed,  no  special 
inspiration  permissible,  no  miracles  possible,  all  according  to 
law  and  in  universal  order  and  (at  least  prospective)  harmony, 
etc., — on  the  other  side,  death,  depravity,  future  change  of  whole 
economy,  God  made  man,  and  slain  for  man,  conversion,  two 
great  classes  in  the  world  and — eternal  death. 

All  religions  are  alike  was  the  astounding  but  unconscious 


148  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vm 

comment  upon  our  discussion  by  Theodore  Parker  in  his  morning 
sermon.  All  Jews,  Mohammedans,  Pagans  and  Christian  sects 
believe  alike  in  the  fundamental:  only  one  has  more  and  better 
faith  than  another.  One  man  holds  a  drop,  another  an  ocean, 
but  both  of  the  same  pure  water  from  heaven. 

I  am  in  danger  of  overloading  my  letters  and  your  patience 
with  these  Unitarian  details,  but  I  shall  not  be  much  longer  in 
Boston,  and  have  pleasanter  things  to  talk  about.  I  have  in- 
dulged in  the  utmost  freedom  of  action  since  being  here,  and  gone 
where  I  pleased,  and  listened  to  whom  I  pleased,  and  made  the 
personal  acquaintance  of  as  many  as  I  could,  because  I  have  con- 
sidered it  an  opportunity  given  me  by  the  Lord  to  increase  in 
Wisdom,  and  I  had  no  excuse  for  shunning  its  advantages. 

April  22.    To  HIS  Father. 

One  of  the  chief  pleasures  that  are  mine  in  life,  one  that 
I  do  not  know  what  I  should  do  without,  one  that  always  has 
an  evident  influence  upon  my  inner  well-being  as  well  as 
outer,  making  me  better  as  well  as  happier — is  the  pleasure 
of  reading  a  letter  from  you.  A  child  does  not  simply  inherit 
his  parent's  life,  and  reputation  and  property,  but  even  his 
very  hopes  and  fears ;  his  affection  impels  him  to  realize  the  former, 
and  make  the  latter  fruitless,  whenever  he  can  discover  them.  So 
I  often  wish  I  were  a  better  man,  not  so  much  for  my  own  sake 
as  for  yours,  and  sometimes  half  believe  that  I  don't  so  much 
belong  to  myself  as  I  do  to  you.  How  rich  is  His  goodness,  how 
cunning  His  wisdom,  who  thus  hedges  us  about  with  sweet  in- 
fluences, and  carries  on  his  process  of  our  education  by  almost 
invisible  but  truly  irresistible  agencies!  These  ties  of  earth  are 
however — not  too  strong — but  too  exclusive;  we  often  forget  that 
we  are  not  our  own,  nor  our  friends',  but  Christ's,  bought  with 
a  price,  the  highest  that  anything  or  anybody  was  ever  sold  at. 
I  fear  that  I  have  lost  sight  of  this  too  much  this  winter.  I  have 
faithfully  fulfilled  my  worldly  duties,  even  to  an  overplus  on  the 
side  of  equity;  but  it  is  too  easy  to  have  the  attention  taken  up 
with  that,  and  to  neglect  meditation,  almsdoing  and  prayer.  I 
don't  mean  almsgiving,  because  I  find  it  easy  to  give  away  money, 
especially  when  one's  avarice  has  never  been  cultivated.  But  I 
do  think  our  active  benevolence,  in  the  way  of  visiting,  and  com- 
forting, and  helping  to  get  people's  matters  to  rights  for  them, 
who  are  in  trouble,  might  be  more  like  that  of  the  early  Christians, 
or  like  what  it  would  be  if  we  were  in  a  persecuted  condition, — 
than  it  is. 


i847  FIRST  YEAR  IN  BOSTON  149 

Boston,  May  18.    To  his  Father. 

I  send  you  with  this  a  number  of  Littell's  Living  Age,  and 
draw  your  attention  to  the  admirably  written  article  on  Irish 
emigration.  Bennett  Forbes  says  that  the  condition  of  the  people 
is  perfectly  inconceivable  by  us,  as  he  saw  it  in  Cork.  .  .  . 

As  summer  approached,  the  uncertainties  of  his  future 
began  to  require  attention  from  my  father.  There  came 
opportunities  to  work  as  a  Presbyterian  minister  in  Pennsyl- 
vania.    Concerning  this  he  writes  to  his  father  May  18: —  ' 

I  have  opened  a  correspondence  direct  with  Senior  Elder, 
but  feel  no  disposition  to  accept  a  call  from  them.  I  cannot 
leave  Boston  until  this  work  is  completely  off  our  hands,  and 
that  cannot  be  for  several  weeks.  I  am  in  no  hurry,  and  feel  as 
if  I  never  should  be  in  a  hurry  again.  If  a  pulpit  should  be  opened 
to  me  in  Philadelphia  I  should  probably  enter  it  with  pleasure. 
Distance  from  you,  however,  and  the  unpleasant  climate  would 
be  the  only  drawbacks  I  should  be  conscious  of  in  preferring  a 
pulpit  here.  I  can  settle  in  New  England  without  difl&culty, 
especially  if  I  am  content  with  a  small  salary  and  country  congre- 
gation. I  should  like  much  to  have  one  not  too  far  from  Boston, 
but  yet  far  enough  back  from  the  bay  to  escape  the  east  wind. 
From  all  I  can  learn  of  it  by  intercourse  with  the  orthodox  breth- 
ren here,  I  decidedly  prefer  the  Congregational  form  of  govern- 
ment and  the  whole  church  polity  of  New  England,  and  the  tone 
of  feeling  and  religious  spirit  of  the  country,  to  their  counterparts 
with  us;  although  this  liking  I  hold  lightly,  and  as  a  prejudice 
to  which  my  agreeable  relations  with  people  here  and  my  more 
complete  knowledge  of  things  in  Pennsylvania  naturally  subject 
me.  ... 

May  24.    To  his  Brother  Allen. 

[A  long  letter  on  Remusat's  work  on  the  Osmanli -Turkish 
language,  Turkish  emigrations,  other  works  on  Oriental  languages, 
and  winding  up  with :]  Tired,  tired, — I'll  lay  down  Pritchard  and 
take  up  Sydney  Smith  at  his  Noodles'  oration,  which  might  be 
delivered  before  most  audiences  with  startling  effect.  But  before 
I  wind  up  the  evening  in  such  agreeably  witty  company,  after  a 
three-hours  perambulation  of  great  and  little  Turkestan,  let  me 
bid  you  good-night,  and  repeat  my  promise  to  give  you  a  sheet 
on  Hebrew  and  Arabic  in  a  few  days.  I  have  not  seen  Kraitzer 
yet.     He  keeps  school  all  day  and  goes  to  the  opera  every  even- 


150  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vm 

ing;  I  can't  follow  him  at  either  place.  Tedesco  has  turned 
people's  heads;  she  comes  on  Sunday  night  with  the  other  two 
prima  donnas  to  sing,  perhaps  I  should  say  squall,  with  Mad. 
Arnout  next  door  to  us.  Strange  utterings  and  lamentations 
fell  haunt  the  neighborhood  meanwhile.  Black  women  group 
themselves  on  the  opposite  curbstone;  we  sit  upon  the  back  bay 
window  valves;  it  sounds  like  a  storm  around  corner  walls,  or 
the  audible  ghost  that  frightened  the  family  with  its  "vance 
I  was  hap^hap — happy,  but  nieu  I  am  meeserable,"  and 
turned  out  to  be  a  forsaken  turnspit  rusty  in  its  joints.  .  .  . 

My  map  is  a  most  tedious  affair;  my  eyes  are  almost  ruined 
and  regular  neuralgic  paroxysms  are  produced  by  it  in  the  left 
head  and  jaws  every  day.     It  cannot  last  forever.  .  .  . 

June  I.    To  his  Father. 

.  .  .  My  plans  assume  a  definite  shape.  Our  little  Com- 
monwealth goes  to  ruin.  Rogers  leaves  for  New  Brunswick 
next  week,  Hillard  goes  to  Europe  in  July,  the  Binneys  to  the 
country,  and  their  mother's  residence,  the  house  is  let  and  Ma- 
dame afloat  for  eighteen  months  (until  her  husband's  return) 
— and  I  expect  in  two  weeks  to  spend  a  few  days  on  the  Mohawk, 
and  so  pass  on  west  to  Geneva  and  down  to  Williamsport,  to 
preach  for  the  church  there  on  trial  *  .  .  . 

June  21.      To  HIS  STEPMOTHER. 

.  .  .  The  map  that  I  have  almost  completed  is  surprisingly 
beautiful,  and  will  receive  the  last  stroke  perhaps  on  Thursday 
next.  Two  more  days  will  be  required  for  laying  in  the  tints 
upon  the  one  we  mean  to  color,  and  then  I  shall  be  a  happy 
man.  Rogers  has  been  in  New  Brunswick  these  ten  days,  and 
will  perhaps  return  next  Wednesday  evening,  when  we  will  either 
go  up  together  to  Lunenburg  to  bask  a  day  or  two  in  the  sun- 
shine there,  or  directly  to  Pittsfield  to  trace  the  boulder  trains, 
previous  to  his  trip  to  New  Jersey  and  my  departure  for  Williams- 
port.*  .  .  .  Hillard  sails  on  the  first,  and  is  in  the  midst  of  his 
P.P.Cs.  We  called  together  on  Mrs.  FoUen,  relict  of  the  lamented 
Dr.  FoUen  who  perished  in  the  Lexington,  last  evening  and  found 
her  one  of  those  enthusiastic,  partisan  souls,  who  can  see  no 
faults  in  friends,  nor  virtues  in  enemies.  Her  whole  being  is 
moved  just   now  in   support  of  Charles  Sumner,   a  prominent 

*  Instead  he  remained  in  Boston  and  its  vicinity  during  the  summer, 
and  did  not  go  further  south  until  mid-autiunn. 


i847  FIRST  YEAR  IN  BOSTON  151 

"Young  New  England"  lawyer,  engaged  in  conducting  a  public 
discussion  before  the  Prison  Discipline  Society,  adverse  to  the 
course  of  its  Secretary,  Mr.  Dwight,  and  in  this  discussion  all 
Boston  takes  sides,  and  its  most  prominent  men  tilt  against 
each  other.  Pres.  Dr.  Wayland,  Hillard,  Summer,  Dr.  Howe, 
Fuller,  on  one  side  represent  the  Reform  or  "Radical"  so 
called,  or  perhaps  miscalled,  party,  who  desire  to  do  justice  to 
the  Philadelphia  system,  and  that  the  Society  should  seek  the 
truth,  and  not  support  a  side;  while  Dwight,  Elliot,  .  .  .  Gray, 
Allen,  a  powerful  writer  of  the  last  twenty  years,  and  one  rascally 
B.S.,  a  lawyer  of  ill  fame,  are  prominent  on  the  other,  upholding 
the  Auburn  system,  defaming  the  originators  of  the  system  of 
total  seclusion,  vindicating  the  ex  parte  course  of  the  Society  and 
its  secretary,  and  refusing  with  indignation  and  scorn  all  overtures 
that  propose  retraction  or  improvement.  Night  after  night,  and 
upon  a  series  of  adjournments,  the  discussions  have  proceeded, 
until  they  are  become  the  only  evening  amusement  of  the  city, 
at  which  before  crowded  audiences,  these  men,  or  the  more  ex- 
citable of  them,  bait  each  other  like  dogs  and  bulls,  to  the  shame 
of  all  their  honors,  and  the  origin  of  personal  feuds  of  the  most 
bitter  and  lasting  kinds. 

The  general  result  is  however  probably  attained,  and  will 
prove  good. 

The  whole  community  has  become  interested  in  the  canvass, 
and  will  be  better  able  hereafter  to  judge  and  act  for  whatever 
good  such  societies  are  capable  of  effecting.  Sarah  Martin 
did  more  good,  I  think,  than  a  hundred  Boston  Prison  Discipline 
Societies  are  like  to  do.  I  have  made  the  better  acquaintance 
of  our  queer,  amiable,  talented  and  truly  useful  friend,  Miss 
Eliza  Robbins  of  New  York,  who  came  on  to  sail  with  H.  to 
England,  but  puts  it  off  three  months  longer.  She  offered  me 
the  Chaplaincy  of  Sing-Sing.  I  declined  the  post  as  above  my 
strength  and  zeal.  What  a  strange  society  is  this!  Not  a  man, 
not  a  woman  I  meet,  but  has  a  distinctive  character,  of  which  I 
can  learn  something  either  by  precept  or  example.  One  of  my 
latest  and  most  valued  (at  first  sight)  friends  is  Wm.  H.  Channing, 
an  enthusiast,  an  altruist,  an  associationist,  a  transcendental 
genius  of  the  first  water,  self-sacrificed  to  what  he  thinks  the 
ripest,  truest  form  of  Christianity,  with  remarkable  insights  into 
the  evils,  but  less  ability  to  see  the  goods  of  Society,  and  called 
by  his  Circle  of  admirers  (every  genius  has  one  here)  "the  born 
prophet."  His  eloquence  is  bewitching — to  the  reason;  his 
private  conversation  very  seductive.     I  have  heard  him  preach 


152  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  viii 

upon  the  text  "  God  is  love,  and  he  that  dwelleth  in  love,  dwell- 
eth  in  God  and  God  in  him,"  and  many  of  his  thoughts  were  as 
true  as  beautiful,  especially  that,  when  he  said  that  there  had 
always  been  three  classes  of  theorists  about  virtue,  the  Sen- 
timentahsts,  the  Rationalists,  and  the  Utilitarians.  The  first 
considered  no  man  virtuous  who  does  not  do  good  from  impulse; 
the  second,  no  man  who  does  not  do  good  in  obedience  to  law; 
the  third,  no  man  who  considers  not  the  end  in  view.  Said  he, 
the  true  virtue  unites  and  fulfils  the  three,  it  is  the  life  of  the 
love  of  God  in  the  soul  as  a  principle,  working  through  and 
under  law,  to  and  for  the  universal  good.  But  I  am  not  in  tune 
to  give  you  a  resume  of  his  exquisite  sermon.  But  a  gulf,  not 
to  be  bridged  over,  separates  the  philosophy  of  these  men's  re- 
ligion from  ours.  I  approach  them,  and  am  repelled  again. 
Their  embrace  is  warm,  living,  healthful,  inspiring,  but  so  founded 
upon  errors  in  dogmatic  theology  that  I  stand  always  in  amaze 
at  the  ripe  richness  of  their  practical  Christianity.  They  aboimd 
in  good  works,  exhibit  singular  love  to  each  other,  and  tolera- 
tion for  all  diversities  of  opinion,  and  thus  show  that  the  life  of 
godliness  may  live  in  and  in  spite  of  theoretical  heterodoxy  at 
its  most  extreme  limit.  I  have  studied  them  carefully  this  winter, 
and  you  will  be  pleased  to  learn  that  I  at  length  accepted  Mr. 
Clarke's  [James  Freeman  Clarke]  invitation  to  preach  for  his 
people  last  Sunday,  he  himself  being  called  away  suddenly  to 
Buffalo  by  the  dying  of  his  relative,  and  that  I  preached  a  care- 
fully prepared  sermon  in  which  I  made  most  prominent  this 
truth,  that  "no  man  must  expect  to  attain  to  a  right  knowledge, 
or  to  the  true  favor  of  God  the  Father,  who  does  not  warmly, 
devotedly,  personally  love  Christ."  "The  Father  loveth  you, 
because  ye  have  loved  me,"  etc.,  John  14  :  37.  After  all  my 
observations  I  consider  that  in  this  most  the  Unitarians  come 
short.  I  do  not  blame  them  for  being  Arians,  or  Sabellians.  It 
is  not  strange  indeed  that  with  their  imperfect  (I  beheve  it  so 
to  be  in  all  cases)  theological  training  they  should  sink  down 
to  a  mere  humanitarian  ground.  But  while  acknowledging 
Christ  Jesus  to  be  the  inspired  and  peculiar  Son  of  God,  the 
teacher,  the  Saviour,  the  Lord  (all  this  they  all  acknowledge 
and  teach),  they  do  fail  most  lamentably  in  any  true  friendly, 
brotherly,  or  even  servile  affection  for  him.  They  revere  him 
apparently  as  a  greater  Socrates,  and  Paul's  and  Peter's  master, 
but  not  as  their  own  dear  Lord  and  Elder  Brother,  who  died 
for  them,  and  waits  to  receive  them  unto  himself.  The  heart  of 
their  deficiencies  seems  to  be  a  most  imperfect  view  of  the  Atone- 


i847  FIRST  YEAR  IN  BOSTON  153 

ment.  I  cannot  but  return  with  an  ever -increasing  assurance  of 
its  truth,  to  our  hypothesis  of  the  Atonement,  although  you  would 
be  astonished  beyond  measure  at  the  variety  and  ingenuity  of 
the  hypotheses  here  broached  and  defended  with  thought  and 
feeling  by  powerful  and  honest  minds.  It  [ours]  is  the  clearest; 
it  resolves  Scriptiure  language  most  easily;  it  affords  the  heart 
a  foimtain  of  warm  sentiment  and  having  for  its  special  object 
what  Peter's  confession  and  John's  love  fastened  on,  the  person 
and  proprieties  of  "the  man  Christ  Jesus,"  "the  beloved  Son," 
not  as  a  devotee,  or  a  martyr  to  Philanthropy,  or  as  a  light  in 
and  to  the  world,  but  as  the  Lamb  of  God,  the  proxy  of  the  world 
awaiting  punishment,  my  substitute  and  personal  Saviour.  Chris- 
tianity in  its  second  stage  will  reveal  to  the  initiated  his  heavenly 
character;  but  this  is  his  earthly  and  that  with  which  Christianity 
has  most  now  to  do.  ... 


I  have  given  a  large  part  of  this  letter,  which  expresses 
what  was  later  so  foreign  to  my  father's  thoughts  and  re- 
ligious sentiment,  because  I  believe  it  was  entirely  true 
to  his  views  at  the  time  written.  A  little  later  his  opinions 
in  regard  to  the  value  of  "Dogmatic  Theology"  and  the 
Calvinistic  scheme  of  salvation  through  the  "Atonement" 
must  have  undergone  complete  changes.  At  the  time  the 
above  letter  was  written,  he  stands  still  clad  in  his  outworn 
and  already  tattered  coat  of  orthodox  dogma.  It  is  full 
of  rents  and  too  thin  to  warm  him.  That  orthodox  father 
who  had  from  earliest  childhood  trained  him  to  look  upon 
the  world  with  intelligent  eyes,  to  reason  for  himself  on 
all  that  he  saw  or  read,  and  who  had  taught  him  that  fear- 
less truth  in  speech  and  action  was  the  only  right  method 
of  expressing  the  light  that  was  in  him, — that  father  had 
thus  torn  the  first  rent  in  his  theological  garment;  science 
as  learned  in  the  field  and  in  books  had  rent  it  a  second 
time;  German  Philosophy  had  worn  it  thin;  and  now  life 
among  these  Boston  thinkers  and  workers  was  rapidly  mak- 
ing it  threadbare.  It  needed  but  one  more  agency — and 
that  the  most  powerful  of  all — to  cause  him  to  slip  the 
wretched  excuse  for  a  garment  from  his  shoulders,  and 
stand  forth  in  the  sunshine  of  free  thought,  but  possessed 
still  of  the  same  devout  spirit  as  in  his  youthful  days.     Many 


154  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vrii 

men  in  leaving  an  outworn  form  of  religion  go  through 
bitter  suffering  of  mind  and  soul.  I  do  not  think  my  father 
ever  did  so  suffer.  He  told  me  more  than  once  that  the  ele- 
ment of  fear  never  had  entered  into  his  religious  life  at  any 
time.  It  was  the  warming,  healing  quality  of  religious  faith 
which  had  always  been  the  vital  matter  to  him.  Fear  and 
punishment  were  negative  ills :  not  "pardon,"  but  "adoption" 
(as  he  writes  in  an  early  letter),  was  the  saving  grace.  And 
so  probably,  in  dropping  his  old  theology, — when  and  how 
I  do  not  know, — ^he  left  nothing  behind  him  that  mattered 
greatly  to  his  heart. 

Milton,  June  28.    To  his  Stepmother. 

Last  Friday  R.,  having  returned  from  New  Brunswick, 
with  the  mere  discovery  of  a  basin,  not  containing  rocks 
above  the  Danville  ore  formation,  but  receiving  higher  rocks 
to  the  Eastward,  and  finally  the  Coal,  at  the  lake  east  of  the 
St.  John's, — I  put  the  last  stroke  to  the  map,  and  turned  to 
coloring  the  original,  which  I  half  accomplished,  beginning 
with  fear,  but  ending  in  delight;  it  excels  our  hopes.  Satur- 
day was  too  hot  to  work  in,  and  Mrs.  Robbins  came  in  from 
Milton  to  beg  me  to  give  their  people  a  sermon.  By  the  last 
train  of  cars  I  came  out  to  her  husband's  country  seat  [Brush 
Hill],  and  go  in  to-night.  It  is  useless  to  attempt  a  description 
of  these  beautiful  scenes,  every  way  worthy  of  England.  All 
his  [Mr.  Robbins']  fields  are  surrounded,  as  the  Norman  fields 
are,  by  tall  shrubbery  and  trees,  elms,  etc.,  which  form  the  most 
beautiful  alleys  and  vistas,  through  which  appears  a  beautiful 
landscape,  look  where  you  will.  It  is  but  six  miles  from  Boston, 
yet  as  secluded  as  a  farm  on  the  first  fork  of  Pine  Creek.  Within 
sight,  three  miles  distant  indeed,  is  the  highest  of  the  Blue  Hills, 
seven  hundred  feet,  on  the  top  of  which  Bache  set  up  his  chief  Coast 
beacon,  and  from  it  the  battle  of  the  Chesapeake  and  Shannon 
was  watched  and  reported.  ...  A  new  annoyance  woke  me  last 
week.  A  string  of  carts  led  by  Irishmen  began  to  take  their 
course  at  sunrise  past  our  house  (62  Pinckney  St.),  toting  away 
the  soil  thrown  out  from  the  foundation  of  the  city  aqueduct 
reservoir,  which  will  be  surrounded  by  houses  just  as  those  in 
Paris  are.  These  continue  all  day  to  drag  their  slow  length 
along,  jarring  the  house  and  setting  one  frantic  with  the  noise. 
Music  continued  ad  libitum,  the  children  practising  for  Polk's 
advent.     Mr.  Robbins  says  Polk's  grandfather  PoUuck  (Pol'k) 


i847  FIRST  YEAR  IN  BOSTON  155 

and  R.'s  father  came  over  on  the  same  ship  from  Scotland.  He 
[Robbins],  an  influential  person  in  the  orthodox  church,  and  his 
wife,  an  Episcopalian,  warm-hearted  and  devout,  desire  me  to 
settle  here  as  the  pastor.  I  shall  be  well  contented  to  do  so. 
Will  at  least  wait  the  result  of  their  negotiations.  .  .  . 

Milton,  July  26.    To  his  Father. 

...  I  preached  my  appointed  sermons  yesterday.  The  in- 
telligent were  delighted;  the  greater  number  repeated  the  re- 
buke that  I  have  so  often  received,  by  saying  that  they  did  not 
understand  me.  That  is  an  unpardonable  fault  in  a  preacher. 
But  when  truth  is  stripped  of  its  technical  dress  for  greater  evi- 
dence, it  becomes  to  all  who  are  not  trained  to  think,  really 
less  evident  than  before.  ...  I  do  not  think  I  will  suit  them, 
although  I  regret  to  think  so.  They  asked  me  to  preach  again 
next  Sunday,  but  I  declined  for  at  least  four  weeks.  Then 
I  shall  preach  extempore.  My  mode  I  find  to  be  so  much  out 
of  the  usual  track,  that  I  must  find  a  very  indulgent  people,  and 
be  permitted  to  train  them  to  it.  .  .  . 

In  August  my  father  took  a  trip  through  the  White  Moun- 
tains, whither  had  preceded  him  Mrs.  Hillard,  Mr.  Rogers, 
and  other  Boston  friends.  He  writes  to  his  father  with  delight 
of  the  scenery  and  of  the  geology  of  the  region,  and  of  the 
pleasant  travelling  companions  he  meets  in  the  various  ex- 
cursions. He  also  speaks  of  the  constant  changing  of  his  own 
thought  in  regard  to  life,  as  experience  widens  his  view: — 

Were  it  not  for  my  fixed  faith  in  Him  who  came  to  save  the 
lost,  according  to  the  Father's  eternal  purpose,  I  should  give  up 
all  for  lost  and  sink  into  blank  fatalism,  as  I  see  myself  swept 
from  point  to  point,  like  a  pebble  down  the  bed  of  a  mountain 
stream,  by  one  influence  after  another,  that  exert  their  forces 
upon  me  in  turn, — forced  to  modify  my  plans,  to  exchange  my 
opinions,  to  feel  new  sentiments  and  form  new  relations  with 
the  world  of  fact  and  the  other  world  of  thought,  continually. 
But  thank  God  that  faith  never  fails  me.  Not  a  tremor  ever 
shakes  the  firm  ground  on  which  my  feet  were  placed,  and  I  can 
look  down  the  slope  of  ages,  and  descry  dimly  the  forms  of  in- 
finite changes  without  any  particle  of  anxiety.  Ever  onward, 
unfolding,  realizing  in  myself  ideas  of  grace  that  until  thus 
developed  and  made  history  in  my  own  experience  are  mere 


156  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  viii 

abstractions,  however  surely  predestined  to  be  real.  The  dif- 
ference between  the  fatalism  of  the  Unbeliever  and  that  of  the 
believer  is  only  this  (and  all  this),  that  the  one  is  indifferent  to 
the  future  because  unknown  by  man,  while  the  other  is  confident 
in  the  future  because  arranged  in  Christ. 

Boston,  August  19.    To  his  Father. 

A  note  from  my  friends  at  Brush  Hill  [Milton]  notified 
me  that  I  am  expected  to  fill  the  pulpit  there  three  Sabbaths. 
I  agreed  to  do  so.  .  .  . 

My  stay  among  Unitarians  has  changed  me  no  doubt,  but 
not  in  any  way  I  think  that  your  views  of  gospel  truth  or  hearty 
piety  would  cause  you  to  regret.  The  theological  hypotheses 
of  the  Princeton  School  upon  the  Westminster  basis,  seem  to 
me  the  only  ones  to  be  drawn  logically  from  scripture.  But  I 
am  changed  and  still  changing  in  this  respect,  that  I  do  not  iden- 
tify truth  with  logic,  and  faith  with  dogma,  as  much  as  once, 
when  my  logical  consistency,  while  relieving  me  from  doubt, 
plunged  me  often  in  despair,  and  hardening  my  sensibility  to 
man's  responsibility,  landed  me  in  fatalism.  I  study  to  be  less 
precise  and  consistent  in  the  jointing  of  my  system  than  formerly, 
and  more  desire  to  grow  in  love  to  Christ  and  knowledge  of  and 
obedience  to  his  will,  and  submission  to  his  designs,  and  in  a 
clear  view  of  man's  condition,  wants,  and  ways  of  relief,  than  in 
the  skilful  handling  of  words.  I  think  I  am  becoming  more 
spiritvial  and  less  technical;  more  of  a  New  School  man  in  one 
sense,  yet  sympathizing  with  even  Dr.  Nevins;  always  less  an 
Arminian,  but  perhaps  somewhat  semi -Pelagian :  in  fine  I  see 
my  progress  to  be  as  it  has  ever  been  a  waving  line,  but  the  re- 
sultant of  a  composition  of  forces,  to  which  I  yield  myself  in 
faith  of  the  faithfulness  of  my  divine  Redeemer.  I  sit  at  table 
with  a  Swedenborgian,  and  appreciate  the  one  great  truth  of 
which  that  denomination  is  the  curious  exponent.  I  talk  daily 
and  intimately  with  a  Catholic  young  lady  of  sincere  piety,  with  a 
Unitarian  clergyman  of  whose  piety  I  have  little  less  doubt,  and 
with  a  Methodist  and  a  Presbyterian  of  shining  gifts  and  graces, 
with  all  whom  I  feel  quietly  at  home,  not  as  agreeing  with  the  sum 
of  all,  but  with  some  of  each, — and  seeing  in  them  as  in  myself 
Christ  formed  the  hope  of  Glory.  It  is  time  enough  for  me  to 
assume  an  iron  shoe  and  a  Russian  belt,  when  I  am  installed. 
From  that  time  I  shall  certainly  grow  more  consistent — ^by  growing 
less.  An  old  tree  comes  to  perfection  when  it  no  longer  puts  forth 
a  new  branch,  but  simply  extends  its  old  ones.  .  .  . 


i847  FIRST  YEAR   IN   BOSTON  157 

Boston,  Sept.  3.    To  his  Stepmother. 

I  write,  I  know  not  why  to-day — perhaps  to  keep  my 
hand  in;  although  for  that  matter  it  is  so  cramped  by  my  last 
week's  work  that  its  digits  will  hardly  count  five.  I  am  in  ex- 
cellent health  and  very  happy  with  some  good  friends,  and  very 
lovely  and  lively  friends,  only  untiring  Garrison  abolitionists. 
They  read  everything,  and  talk  like  musical  boxes.  I  enjoy  their 
chat  and  music  wondrously;  moreover  a  friend  sent  me  out  as 
his  substitute  yesterday,  an  aged  incumbent  of  the  Wrentham 
See,  80  odd  years  old,  who  supplied  the  pulpit  for  me:  next 
Simday  another  friend  does  the  same  and  in  another  week  a 
third  will  do  me  the  like  favor — all  for  love;  so  I  revel  in  the 
Deluge,  in  my  heart's  content;  wrote  thirty  pages  on  Friday, 
and  forty  on  Saturday,  and  found  a  prize  in  the  Athenaeum 
to-day,  viz.,  Mrs.  Gray's  "Sepulchres  of  Ancient  Etruria,"  and 
another  at  Binney's,  viz.,  Dane's  "Mythology  of  the  Ancient 
Britons";  so  I  bid  fair,  as  far  as  good  rakes  go,  to  heap  the  ashes 
of  the  forgotten  dead  into  a  tumulus  high  as  the  Bers  Nimroud, 
or  the  pyramid  of  Cholula.  It  is  a  grand  subject.  I  wish  I  had 
still  more  time  to  devote  to  it;  it  opens  up  like  a  Cathedral 
nave  before  me. 

The  weather  has  set  in  for  charming  October  already.  But 
it  is  very  sickly:  we  have  all  the  varieties  of  cholera,  from  the 
Asiatic  down  through  Dysentery  to  Cholera  Infantum.  The  great 
orator  Wendell  Phillips  lay  on  Saturday  at  the  point  of  death. 
I  feel  very  great  anxiety  about  him, — all  his  friends  do  yet.  He 
was  better  to-day.  I  esteem  him  very  highly,  and  we  were  to  be 
dear  friends  one  day.  But  in  truth  time  cures  us  of  ever  forming 
visions  before  us.  Who  could  have  thought  that  a  shameful  peace 
like  that  of  Charles  Albert  and  Radetzky's  late  making  would,  could 
follow  so  radical  an  overturn  of  all  things  as  at  first  threatened 
utter  exile  to  Austrian  influence  from  Lombardy?  .  .  . 

If  I  had  money,  which  I  have  not,  I  would  go  to  Philadelphia 
this  month  at  the  meeting  of  the  Association  of  Geologists  on 
the  20th.  I  must  forego  it  this  year,  and  also  seeing  you.  Henry 
[D.]  Rogers  is  making  a  great  figure  at  the  British  Association, 
and  he  has  a  right  to.     There  are  few  his  equals  in  the  body.  .  .  . 

A  letter  from  Philadelphia,  September  8,  from  his  father, 
contains  these  words; — 

I  cannot  divest  myseil  of  anxiety  about  your  stay  in  Unitarian 
Society.    The  Great  Enemy  is  full  of  wiles — and  sometimes  trans- 


158  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  vm 

forms  himself  into  an  angel  of  light — and  were  it  possible  deceives 
the  Elect.  I  pray  God  that  your  zeal  in  his  cause  be  not  abated 
and  that  your  mind  be  kept  from  error.  Stray  minds  have  been 
unchained  and  warped  by  strange  delusions.  I  hope  your  stay 
may  be  for  good  and  I  pray  my  fears  may  not  be  realized.  My 
trust  is  in  him  who  is  able  to  keep  you  from  falling. 

Boston,  September  11.    To  his  Father. 

[After  speaking  of  his  past  year's  work,  and  his  uncertainty 
as  to  what  his  future  work  shall  be,  he  continues:]  I  have  re- 
fused a  call  to  Williamsport  because  I  am  not  sure  of  support 
and  do  not  desire  to  be  shut  up  from  mental  improvement.  A 
letter  received  last  week  from  my  friend  Hepburn  urges  me  to 
come  to  them. — On  the  other  hand  a  parish  is  open  to  me  at 
Milton,  close  by  the  city,  with  many  advantages  to  allure  me.  I 
am  however  not  sure  of  a  call  by  any  means.  ...  I  have  as  little 
sympathy  with  the  Arminian  philosophy  of  New  England  ortho- 
dox preachers  as  with  the  frigid  humanitarianism  of  New  Eng- 
land Unitarianism.  I  may  in  time  fall  gradually  into  one  or 
the  other  more  or  less;  God  knows  what  is  possible;  I  do  not 
think  it  probable.  But  for  the  present  I  am  changed  in  nothing 
essentially  Princetonian :  only  my  views  of  the  realization  of 
theological  theories,  of  the  need  of  preaching  practical  godliness 
and  laying  much  less  stress  upon  orthodox  faith,  have  become 
stronger,  clearer,  deeper.  And  this  I  am  happy  to  believe  I  owe 
to  contact  with  and  study  of  Unitarian  life  and  conversation.  I 
consider  I  have  been  most  radically  benefited;  but  that  I  have 
nearly  exhausted  that  good  which  /,  at  least,  am  to  draw  from 
Unitarianism.  My  whole  feeling  is  now  of  reaction,  repulsion. 
You  have  seen  a  pith  ball  fly  to  a  conductor  and  then  charged 
with  its  electricity  fly  back  and  stand  aloof.  Such  a  spiritual 
phenomenon  I  have  realized  in  my  own  spirit  here.  But  I  have 
grown  stronger  and  freer  than  before  I  came  to  Boston.  .  .  .  All 
things  slowly  change  their  relations  to  each  other  and  to  me,  but 
in  such  a  way  that  I  believe  myself  progressing  upon  a  heavenly 
road.  .  .  . 

About  returning  South. — Next  Sunday  is  the  last  of  my  en- 
gagement at  Milton.  Something  was  said  about  inviting  me  to 
preach  six  months.  .  .  .  The  meeting  of  the  Geological  Society 
(of  which  I  am  truly  an  unworthy  member,  for  I  write  nothing) 
takes  place  on  the  20th  (October).  I  shall  of  course  stay  out 
that  week.  ... 

But  besides  my  liking  Boston  and  the  necessity  for  my  remain- 


i847  FIRST  YEAR  IN  BOSTON  159 

ing  here  if  I  desire  to  settle  in  a  New  England  parish  near  it,  I 
have  another  motive  for  staying  through  the  winter  or  the  early 
half  of  it.  Mr.  Rogers  desires  to  go  to  Europe  in  the  spring,  and 
to  carry  with  him  not  only  the  maps,  etc.,  of  our  survey,  which 
he  cannot  publish  here,  but  some  work  of  his  own  which  he  can; 
he  and  his  brother  have  half  written  a  manual  which  embodies 
their  views,  describes  the  general  geology  of  the  U.S.  and  will  in- 
sure their  taking  rank  with  De  Beaumont,  Murchison  and  others 
at  the  head  of  science  there.  My  friendship  for  him  would  decide 
me  upon  Staying  to  give  him  certain  necessary  aid,  provided  that 
in  so  doing  I  violate  no  higher  duty.  If  I  settle  in  Milton,  or  if 
I  am  invited  to  preach  anywhere  in  the  vicinity  for  the  time,  I 
can  give  him  what  assistance  he  requires  and  which  no  other  can. 
— It  would  be  much  more  agreeable  to  me  to  drop  the  whole 
matter  and  make  my  home  with  you  for  a  while,  until  some  place 
offered  itself  for  a  permanent  settlement. 

If  you  were  wealthy  I  should  desire  you  to  support  me  part 
of  the  year  as  a  Colporteur,  and  allow  me  to  study  and  write  in 
my  own  family  circle  the  rest  of  the  year.  But  as  I  am  to  obtain 
by  the  labor  of  my  hands  the  bread  that  I  put  into  my  mouth, 
as  Paul  did,  I  consider  myself  blessed  in  the  opening  of  a  certain 
path  of  science  to  me  for  that  end.  I  only  wish  it  would  yield 
me  more  money,  that  I  might  help  some  of  my  friends.  .  .  . 

You  see,  dear  Father,  that  unless  I  were  to  determine  to  return 
to  the  mountains  of  Pennsylvania  in  connection  with  the  Tract 
Society  (and  with  my  relations  personal  with  them,  probably 
from  my  own  fault,  I  am  rather  disgusted)  or  as  pastor  of  Williams- 
port  Church,  where  there  is  really  no  need  of  me,  for  the  two 
churches  ought  to  be  under  one  minister,- — or  unless  I  were  to 
accept  Trumbull's  proposition  to  take  his  place  at  Valparaiso  or 
go  to  California  (and  while  you  live  I  shall  never  do  any  such 
thing,  and  probably  never  at  all)- — there  is  no  earthly  reason  for 
my  leaving  a  certain  occupation  of  my  hands,  heart  and  head, 
here  in  Boston,  while  it  lasts.  Whither  shall  I  go?  My  heart 
draws  me  to  your  roof.  But  you  would  be  justly  astonished 
and  offended,  if  I  returned  to  you  and  remained,  as  you  would 
think,  whatever  employed  me,  idly  at  home.  There  is  no  pulpit 
open  to  me  in  Philadelphia  or  near  it  that  I  know  of.  If  further 
off — then  I  might  as  well  be  here.  I  cannot  see,  therefore,  that 
any  better  course  offers,  since  I  am  here  neither  idle  nor  in  danger, 
than  for  me  to  continue  to  do  what  I  find  to  do,  as  long  as  occu- 
pation of  the  right  sort  lasts. 

I  have  a  heart  for  social  affections:   I  have  talents  for  public 


i6o  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  viii 

usefulness,  but  every  day  furnishes  new  evidence  that  my  charac- 
ter is  not  yet  wholly  perfected,  and  therefore  I  can  neither  see  how 
my  heart  is  to  be  satisfied  nor  how  my  talents  are  to  be  employed. 
And  yet  neither  of  these  two  is  meanwhile  either  rusting  or 
wasting.  This  whole  life  is  a  probation,  a  preparation,  a  muta- 
tion, a  wandering,  an  attempt, — change  and  effort  and  failure 
then  must  satisfy  us.  My  worldly  prospects  are  poor  enough 
and  yet  I  am  satisfied.  .  .  .  And  so  I  stand,  fearless  of  any  ill,  and 
without  an  enemy  in  the  world,  full  of  peace  within,  with  a  con- 
science void  of  all  offence  towards  God  and  man,  ready  to  go 
where  my  Master  calls  and  to  do  what  falls  to  my  share;  I  con- 
sider myself  not  less  happy  than  undeserving, — and  of  nothing 
more  than  of  having  a  Father  who  is  willing  and  worthy  to 
receive  such  a  letter  as  this,  from  your  own  son  Peter. 

To  which  the  father  answers  by  a  deeply  affectionate 
letter  September  14,  containing  this  sentence: — 

I  am  sorry  that  you  could  allow  a  thought  to  occupy  your 
mind  for  a  moment  that  I  "  would  be  justly  astonished  and  offended 
if  I  returned  to  you  and  remained  as  you  would  think,  whatever 
employed  me,  idly  at  home."  Dear  son,  my  home  is  your  home 
— and  always  open  to  your  stay  and  comfort.  .  .  . 

October  19  my  father  writes  to  his  brother  Allen  from 
Philadelphia : — 

All  my  hopes  and  plans  have  been  dashed  by  a  letter  from 
Milton  signifying  the  election  of  another  man  to  fill  the  pulpit 
for  the  time  (eight  weeks)  and  of  a  colleague  also  to  Dr.  Codman. 
The  disappointment  that  I  feel  made  me  first  really  acquainted 
with  the  intensity  of  my  desire  to  return  to  Boston.  All  things 
work  for  good  to  them  that  love  God,  I  can  only  say,  and  that 
with  a  heavy  heart.  Presbytery  will  have  me  organize  a  church 
about  the  corner  of  Poplar  Lane,  or  Girard  Avenue  and  loth 
Street.     I  am  buying  books  and  getting  to  work. 

Nevertheless,  December  11  finds  him  again  in  Boston, 
after  a  home  visit  and  some  travelling  in  Pennsylvania,  and 
on  the  1 8th  he  writes  to  his  mother  from  Milton  as  if  estab- 
lished there  in  parish  work: — 


i847  FIRST  YEAR   IN   BOSTON  i6l 

It  has  just  ceased  snowing  here,  and  the  sun  is  struggling 
through  the  long  cold  cobwebs  that  still  hang  across  the — 
whether  East,  West,  South  or  North,  I'm  sure  I  cannot  tell,  for 
there  is  neither  sign-post  nor  weathercock,  by  which  to  rectify 
.one's  topography,  that  I  have  yet  discovered  in  all  the  parish. 
Every  straight  road  runs  in  a  curve,  and  all  the  parallel  roads 
manage  to  meet  and  triangulate  the  township  and  the  temper  to- 
gether. I  am  not  permitted  to  take  a  guide  in  visiting  the  people, 
because  it  would  be  said  that  I  were  "such-a-one's  minister."  So 
I  go  whither  I  am  sent,  and  if  I  arrive  rightly,  well  and  good;  but 
if  not,  it  matters  little,  for  I  find  myself  then  somewhere  else, 
and  my  invitations  come  from  all  directions.  Much  of  my  time 
is  spent  in  writing  for  the  Sabbath;  the  rest  in  walks  which  keep 
me  in  excellent  bodily  health.  .  .  . 

I  was  obliged  to  meet  thirty  or  forty  ladies  and  a  few  of  their 
husbands,  at  a  Dorcas  Society  meeting  the  other  day,  and  spend 
three  or  four  hours  with  them,  quite  ill  at  ease  to  know  what  to 
say  or  remember  who  was  which.  My  sermons  last  Sunday 
gave  satisfaction  and  were  unusually  well  attended,  but  the  day 
was  a  very  fine  one  and  tempted  many  out.  I  have  just  finished 
the  last  of  two  sermons  for  to-morrow  on  Naaman's  history, 
and  the  doctrine  of  imputation,  but  however  well  I  may  please 
them  I  cannot  please  myself,  and  only  receive  comfort  from  dis- 
covering baldness  and  emptiness  and  commonplace  in  Massillon 
with  all  his  grandeur,  and  Havel  with  all  his  unction — and  from 
reflecting  that  "  God  gives  the  increase." 

I  am  very  happy  here,  enjoying  the  most  complete  seclusion, 
quietude,  command  of  time,  and  peace  of  mind,  and  able  to  study 
ten  hours  in  the  twenty-four,  but  in  great  danger  of  being  too 
happy  and  growing  selfish.  .  .  . 

Milton,  December  26.    To  his  Father. 

The  Committee  met  after  Church  (to-day)  and  extend  an 
invitation  to  me  to  supply  the  pulpit  for  an  indefinite  time;  I, 
to  give  them  two  weeks'  previous  notice  of  intention  to  leave  them. 

This  last  week  I  have  been  overwhelmed  with  evidences  of 
not  only  respect,  but  affection.  The  place  is  considered  a  most 
desirable  one,  and  is  greatly  sought  after.  .  .  . 

This  began  my  father's  ministry  in  Milton. 


CHAPTER  IX 
First  Year  of  Parish  Work,  Milton.    1848 

Early  in  the  year  1848,  my  father,  being  established  in 
Milton,  although  not  actually  "settled"  over  the  parish, 
made  an  attempt  to  prevail  upon  his  aunt  Hall  and  aunt 
Wilson  and  the  latter's  two  children  to  come  to  make  their 
home  with  him.  This  they  with  wise  kindness  refused  to 
do,  and  he  continued  for  some  months  to  lodge,  bachelor- 
fashion,  among  his  new  parishioners.  I  think  he  suffered 
from  a  certain  loneliness  in  being  so  far  from  his  own  family, 
and  this  is  expressed  from  time  to  time  in  the  home  letters. 
Nevertheless,  he  was  happy  in  his  surroundings,  and  already 
deeply  attached  to  a  few  and  much  interested  in  many  of 
his  wide  circle  of  new  friends  and  acquaintances. 

Milton,  Feb.  13,  1848.    To  his  Brother  Allen. 

...  I  am  drawing  a  whole  train  of  work:  abstracting  Miiller's 
Dorians;  Stewart's  Old  Testament;  sifting  and  writing  on  the 
whole  abolition  subject,  from  a  pile  of  books  that  Wendell  Phillips 
has  sent  me;  mapping  the  Jura  and  copying  Thorwaldsen's 
"  Night "  in  oil — besides  my  two  sermons  a  week.  You  might  per- 
haps retort  that  it  is  not  strange  in  such  a  dust  that  I  should  not 
be  able  to  "  Know  myself."  [The  first  half  of  this  letter  is  philo- 
sophic,— German  philosophic  rather.]  I  have  very  few  unoccu- 
pied hours  and  I  can  boast  nee  otium  nee  dignitatem,  I  fear. 
I  read  Thomson's  "Winter"  (season)  to-day.  He  seems  to  my 
ear  tediously  inflated,  i.e.,  with  his  innumerable  adjectives  and 
participles.  But  there  is  nevertheless  a  distinctness  in  his  pict- 
ures, and  sometimes  a  sublime  simplicity  of  outline,  above  praise. 
But  Spenser  has  completely  stolen  my  heart.  If  you  have  never 
read  him  do  get  the  first  book  of  his  "  Faery  Queen  "  in  large  type, 
without  delay  and  make  acquaintance  with  it.  If  you  only  read 
one  canto, — it  will  dwell  with  you,  like  the  remembrance  of  a 
beautiful  stage  companion,  or  an  angel  in  a  dream.  It  is  a  shame 
not  to  be  able  to  say  "I  love  Spenser."    You  will  be  entertained 

162 


1848  FIRST  YEAR  OF  PARISH  WORK  163 

too  with  abundant  Germanisms  in  words  and  terminations;  e.g., 
the  terminal  verbal— ew — see  dedication  sonnet  to  Earl  of  Essex, 
9th  line — "with  bolder  wing  shall  dare  aloft  to  sly"  (steigen  — 
mount),  etc. 

And  the  letter  ends  as  follows: — 

What's  the  matter  with  my  name?! 
'Tis  harsh  and  horrid,  like  the  roar  of  rocks 

Let  loose  by  thunder  from  their  mountain  dwelling, 
Clattering  and  crashing  down  with  slips  and  shocks 

Through  underwood,  and  brush  and  garden  paling.. 
All  I  can  say  is  that  I  want  a  better; 

John,  James,  Tom,  Harry — anything  but . 

He  always  disliked  his  Christian  name,  and  several  times 
tried  futilely  to  settle  upon  another.  He  finally  added  the 
J.  at  the  beginning,  by  which  he  is  most  widely  known. 

March  14.    To  his  Father. 

Last  Friday  they  buried  Adams'  corpse  in  the  next  township. 
I  wish  I  had  a  copy  of  Theodore  Parker's  sermon  to  send  you, 
but  three  editions  were  immediately  exhausted.  He  is  an  odd 
fish  and  will  say  what  nobody  else  dares  to — in  public.  My 
friend  Lyman,*  of  Halle,  spent  Sunday  with  me,  to  my  great 
pleasure.     He  is  not  a  whit  changed. 

A  meeting  was  appointed  for  this  week,  but  is  deferred  to  next 
week.  The  salary  will  be  the  only  question.  I  shall  have  serious 
difficulty  I  expect,  with  any  council,  i.e.,  a  pro  re  nata  sort  of  pres- 
bytery, that  may  be  called  together  to  settle  me.  I  do  not  think 
myself  sufficiently  orthodox  to  meet  their  demands;  and  unless 
I  give  them  satisfaction,  they  will  refuse  to  ordain  me  or  give  me 
the  hand  of  fellowship.  You  may  imagine  then  what  sort  of  a 
gauntlet  I  think  I  should  run  in  a  Presbytery  in  Pennsylvania. 

*  Joseph  Bardwell  Lyman,  son  of  Timothy  Lyman,  .  .  .  closely  con- 
nected with  us  through  one  of  the  three  original  Lyman  brothers  two  hundred 
and  fifty  years  ago,  .  .  .  our  sixth  or  seventh  cousin.  Born  at  Chester, 
Mass.,  October  6,  1829;  graduated  from  Yale  College  1850;  studied  law 
in  Tennessee;  married  July  14,  1858,  Laura  E.  Baker,  of  Maine  1863 
settled  in  New  Orleans  in  the  profession  of  law;  .  .  .  returned  North  in  1863, 
and  settled  in  Stamford,  Conn.,  in  1865,  where  he  was  engaged  in  literary 
efforts  as  a  profession.  Died  in  Richmond  Hill,  L.I.,  January  28,  1872. 
Was  a  great  reader  and  good  scholar.  {Taken  from  a  letter  of  Benjamin 
Smith  Lyman.) 


1 64  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  ix 

However  it  is  foolish  to  meet  trouble  half-way;  or  anticipate  with 
anxiety  what  may  exist  only  in  the  imagination.  My  sermons 
of  last  Sabbath  on  Sin  would  have  been  denounced  by  any  Pres- 
bytery of  ours  I  am  quite  sure;  and  yet  they  were  received  with 
unbounded  satisfaction.  I  am  improving  rapidly  in  strength  and 
clearness  of  style  and  precision  of  expression, — this  is  just  the 
direction  in  which  I  wish  to  advance.  But  it  requires  incessant 
toil,  and  I  cannot  stand  it  long  unless  I  succeed  in  effecting  ex- 
changes more  frequently  than  I  have  been  able  to  do  this  winter. 
The  people  generally  speak  of  my  settlement  among  them  with 
that  enthusiasm  which  is  so  easily  got  up  around  a  new  man  and 
so  easily  forgotten  when  he  is  no  longer  such.  .  .  . 

Evidently,  in  April  or  May,  he  went  South  to  see  his 
family,  and  the  following  letter  marks  his  return: — 

Milton,  May,  1848.    To  his  Father. 

We  have  just  arrived.  The  family  opposite  became  very 
uneasy  and  telegraphed  this  morning  to  know  if  Forbes  had  left 
New  York.  He  came  on  with  us,  and  Lyman's  *  sister,  the  beauti- 
ful Mrs.  Delano,  and  her  party,  unexpectedly  formed  part  of  our 
cortege.  .  .  .  The  Captain  said  it  was  a  severer  blow  than  any 
since  last  September.  ...  I  shall  eschew  the  Sound  routes  here- 
after, having  now  tried  them  all.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  May  3,  1848.    To  Brethren  of  the  Presbytery. 

In  applying  to  you  for  a  letter  of  dismission  to  the  Norfolk 
County  Association  of  Massachusetts,  I  have  been  met  by  a  com- 
munication to  the  Presbytery,  charging  me  with  preaching  in  Nor- 
folk County,  Mass.,  "infidel"  sentiments,  or  those  wearing  "the 
worst  form  of  German  Rationalism,"  with  "denying  the  Inspira- 
tion of  the  Scriptures,  etc." 

Inasmuch  as  the  writer  of  that  letter  never  heard  me  preach, 
and  probably  never  read  anything  that  I  ever  wrote,  and  frankly 
named  a  single  friend  (a  woman)  as  the  medium  of  his  informa- 
tion, but  refers  the  Presbytery  for  further  information  to  other 
persons,  naming  one, — he  has  treated  me  with  a  careless  un- 
kindness,  common  in  the  Church  and  in  the  World,  such  as  I 
would  display  towards  him,  did  I  fire  a  gun  into  a  grove,  knowing 
him  to  be  there,  but  too  intent  upon  killing  a  particular  bird  to 

*  Joseph  Lyman,  my  mother's  brother. 


PORTRAIT   OF   MRS.   WARREN   DELANO    (CATHERINE    LYMAN) 


1S48  FIRST  YEAR  OF  PARISH  WORK  165 

regard  that.  For  while  in  strictness  the  words,  InfideHty,  Ger- 
man Rationalism,  and  a  Denial  of  Scripture  Inspiration,  mean 
nothing  definite,  and  no  man  of  thought  regards  their  applica- 
tion in  the  general  to  any  person  or  persons, — yet  in  common 
parlance  they  do  mean  a  great  deal,  appealing  to  very  ancient  tra- 
ditions and  to  personal  passions  made  intense  by  habit  and  self- 
interest.  To  be  an  Infidel  is  everwhere  shameful.  To  be  a 
German  Rationalist  among  English  Christians  is  to  be  an  object 
little  short  of  horror.  To  deny  Inspiration  is  to  be  at  the  least 
a  Deist,  at  the  most  an  Atheist,  given  to  materialism,  and  with- 
out a  safeguard  from  ruin.  I  do  not  desire,  therefore,  to  have 
attached  to  my  name,  now  or  ever,  words  which  do  not  at  all 
describe  my  past  or  present  life,  and  from  the  use  of  which  neither 
my  friends  nor  my  enemies  (if  I  unfortunately  have  any)  can 
tell  what  I  believe  or  according  to  what  principles  I  live.  I  con- 
sider, therefore,  that  I  have  not  only  suffered  wrong  at  a  brother's 
hand,  but  have  the  highest  right  to  claim  protection  and  a  kind 
redress  at  the  hands  of  my  brethren  of  this  Presbytery,  and 
I  hereby  ask  of  them  a  letter  or  paper  or  opinion  or  resolution 
in  some  plain  form  and  in  fraternal  language,  saying,  that  in 
their  opinion  I  cannot  with  propriety,  in  Christian  charity  and 
truth,  be  said  to  preach  Infidelity,  or  to  be  a  German  Rationalist, 
or  to  deny  the  Inspiration  of  the  Scriptures,  as  has  been  to  them 
reported. 

I  rest  my  claim  to  such  opinion  or  resolution  on  the  following 
ground: 

The  man  who  believes  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  the  Son  of 
God,  as  one  with  the  Father;  as  the  Jehovah  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment World  and  the  Messiah  of  the  New;  as  the  only  name  given 
whereby  men  may  be  saved;  as  the  vicarious  sacrifice  for  sin; 
as  the  Head  of  the  Church,  the  dispenser  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and 
the  future  visible  King  of  the  Nations — cannot  be  called  an  In- 
fidel. 

The  man  who  teaches  with  offensive  plainness  the  Cal- 
vinistic  view  of  the  scheme  of  salvation,  in  its  parts  of  Election, 
Reprobation,  Limited  Atonement,  InabiHty  and  Effectual  Call- 
ing,— cannot  be  said  in  any  sense  to  be  a  German  Rationalist. 

The  man  who  believes  in  the  primary  distinction  between 
the  Church  and  the  World,  the  Living  and  the  Dead,  the  In- 
spired and  the  Uninspired;  in  other  words,  in  the  gift  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  as  the  Spirit  of  all  Truth,  to  every  elect  child  of 
God,  in  every  age  and  place  where  God  has  had  his  Church — 
cannot  deny  the  Inspiration  of  the  Scriptures,  seeing  that  these 


1 66  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  ix 

were  written  by  holy  men  of  old,  and  are  judged  and  found  true 
by  the  same  Inspiring  Spirit  dwelling  in  us. 

As  I  am  a  man,  believing  and  teaching  these  things  accord- 
ing to  the  measure  of  the  evidence  I  have  for  each,  I  can  neither 
be  called  an  Infidel,  nor  a  German  Rationalist,  nor  deny  the 
Inspiration  of  the  Holy  Scriptures.  And  as  such  a  man,  sub- 
ject to  the  attacks  of  ignorance  and  zeal,  like  other  men,  in  duty 
bound  to  guard  myself  against  them  by  all  proper  means,  I 
simply  request  all  or  as  many  of  my  brethren  of  this  Presbytery 
as  can  do  it,  to  attest  this  my  position  in  Life,  in  the  degree  of 
their  Knowledge. 

Furthermore,  I  desire  that  my  brethren  of  the  Presbytery 
not  only  thus  protect  me  against  the  above  accusation,  formally 
or  informally  made,  and  more  or  less  public  as  it  is  now,  or  may 
by  any  action  of  the  Presbytery  become  hereafter, — but  that 
they  moreover  dismiss  me  to  the  Norfolk  County  Association 
of  Massachusetts,  not  as  a  member  of  the  Presbyterian  Church, 
nor  as  a  licentiate  of  a  Presbytery,  but  as  in  their  past  experi- 
ence and  present  apprehension,  a  Christian  man  and  brother, 
of  unexceptional  morals  and  in  good  report,  holding  and  avowing 
and  desiring  to  teach  the  characteristic  and  fundamental  doc- 
trines of  the  Westminster  Confession  of  Faith,  but  differing 
at  present  from  many,  or  it  may  be  all,  of  my  brethren:  i,  in 
my  views  of  the  nature  and  necessity  of  Creeds;  2,  in  my  views 
respecting  the  Order  of  the  Ministry;  and  3,  in  my  theory  of 
Inspiration;  under  the  last  of  which  may  be  included  my  con- 
victions of  the  greater  credibility  of  scientific  deductions,  wherever 
and  so  long  as  they  oppose  any  assertion  of  the  written  word, 
correctly  interpreted. 

I  offer,  of  course,  no  apology  for  these  exceptions  to  the  views 
prevailing  in  the  Presbyterian  Churches,  but  only  claim  to  be 
dismissed  as  holding  such  views,  and  nevertheless  regarded  by 
brethren  of  this  Presbytery  as  no  more  worthy  of  the  name  of 
Infidel  and  German  Rationalist  than  venerated  men  like  Profes- 
sors Neander  and  Tholuck,  who  entertain  and  avow,  perhaps, 
the  same. 

Brethren  of  the  Presbytery,  let  us  part  in  love.  Send  me 
away  with  a  prayer  and  a  blessing,  to  be  received  by  others,  else- 
where, with  a  prayer  and  a  blessing,  and  recommend  me  for  that 
which  I  am,  and  not  for  that  which  you  would  rather  I  should 
be,  to  the  Christian  fellowship  of  Christian  people. 
Your  fellow-servant  to  Christ, 

Peter  Lesley,  J. 


1848  FIRST  YEAR  OF  PARISH  WORK  167 

On  the  outside  of  the  page  this  is  marked  "Copy  of 
letter  sent  to  the  Presbytery  of  Philadelphia,  May  3,  1848." 

Milton,  May  24.    To  his  Father. 

In  the  2nd  week  of  June  the  North  Suffolk  Ass.  meets,  at 
which  I  shall  present  myself.  .  .  .  Pray  let  Mother  ask  Dr.  Cuyler 
next  Sunday  for  a  paper  certifying  my  membership  in  the  Seventh 
St.  Church,  and  send  it  on  as  soon  as  possible.  If  it  be  not  in 
hand,  nothing  can  be  done  at  the  Association.  It  is  the  paper 
with  all  Congregationalists. 

Milton,  June  3.    To  his  Father. 

Your  letter  of  ist  inst.  with  its  enclosed  certificate  has  just 
come  in.     It  supplies  all  that  I  at  present  need.  .  .  . 

The  week  of  the  Anniversaries  is  closing.  I  attended  none 
of  them,  for  fear  of  their  excitement.  Fine  speeches  were  at  a 
discount.  It  is  a  perfect  Carnival  of  Benevolence,  a  sort  of  spirit- 
ually Bacchanalian  orgie.  Shawls  and  white  cravats  filled  the 
city. — I  am  still  at  Lyman's.* 

In  a  letter  of  June  19th  to  his  mother  he  tells  of  several 
meetings  in  regard  to  his  claims  to  be  settled  over  the  Milton 
parish,  but  no  decision  was  made  by  the  Association.  He 
says,  "I  have  formally  released  the  parish  from  their  obli- 
gations to  me  after  next  Sunday."  Nevertheless,  he  con- 
tinued to  preach  for  the  Milton  church  for  some  months  to 
come,  and  he  writes  that  his  people  "sustain  me  to  a  man 
with  the  most  perfect  unanimity  and  most  gratifying  ex- 
pressions of  affection."     In  the  same  letter  he  writes: — 

I  am  still  with  Lyman,  at  most  comfortable  quarters  and 
within  reach  of  the  pleasant  people  Milton  affords.  Some  of  the 
respect  with  which  I  am  treated  is  due  to  the  anomalous  position 
that  I  occupy.  Things  are  at  a  strange  pass  here.  Unitarian- 
ism,  which  was  the  Churches'  protest  forty  years  ago  against  the 
dry  and  heartless  dialectics  of  the  old  orthodoxy,  has  done  its 
work  and  had  its  day  and  is  drying  up  and  vanishing.  Unitarian 
ministers  are  rapidly  becoming  evangelical  and  orthodox  minis- 
ters "liberal."  Everywhere  we  see  portents  of  a  sort  of  practical 
eclectic  amalgamation,  according  to  which  the  church  general 

*  This  must  have  been  Joseph  Lyman,  his  future  brother-in-law. 


i68  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  ix 

shall  adopt  the  freedom  and  science  and  moral  tone  and  bene- 
ficence of  the  Unitarian  school  on  the  one  side,  and  the  high  and 
heavenly  theology,  the  mystical  spiritualism  of  orthodoxy  on  the 
other.  In  a  few  weeks  Bushnell  of  Hartford  will  utter  the  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  oration  before  Harvard,  and  then  dine  with  a  dozen 
Unitarian  ministers  on  Milton  Hill.  Men  like  Simmons  and 
Clarke  and  Waterston  don't  know  where  to  belong.  Such  men 
are  multiplying.  Well  might  brother  Eells  say  in  his  letter  about 
"one  Lesley,  preaching  in  Milton,"  that  orthodoxy  in  New  Eng- 
land was  tumbhng  to  pieces.  What  between  Harvard  and 
Andover,  Science  and  steam,  the  future  has  much  hope  to  feed 
upon.  A  simple,  childlike  faith  in  Christ  crucified,  the  son  of 
God, — an  untiring  assertion  of  the  necessity  of  the  purest  and 
most  efficient  morality,  in  the  Temperance-Anti-slavery-and 
Anti-war-Church, — and  an  unbounded  trust  in  all  truth,  practical, 
scientific  and  religious,  as  divine, — these  are  becoming  the  pillars 
and  watchwords  of  Christianity  in  New  England. 

In  response  to  anxious  letters  from  home  in  regard  to 
his  personal  spiritual  condition  and  worldly  prospects,  he 
writes  cheerily  to  his  father  July  13th: 

But  let  me  assure  you  that  I  am  twenty-nine,  with  some  Chris- 
tian and  worldly  experience,  inheriting  a  tolerably  good  mind  and 
a  pretty  firm  will,  a  love  of  right  and  liberty,  and  willing  to  suffer 
much  if  need  he  (which  there  isn't)  in  what  I  consider  a  good 
cause.  But  there  is  neither  cause  nor  suffering  in  the  present 
case.  I  am  doing  nothing,  fighting  nothing,  supporting  nothing, 
but  living  a  very  quiet,  peaceable,  honest  and  perhaps  useful  life 
from  day  to  day  like  other  people.  Believe  this  and  do  not 
jancy  otherwise. 

Milton,  Aug.  6,  1848.    To  his  Father. 

Will's  letter  with  your  attache  came  duly  to  hand  at  my  return 
from  a  very  pleasant  round  through  the  Connecticut  region.  I 
stopped  two  days  at  Bellows  Falls,  four  days  at  Brattleboro 
with  several  friends,  and  two  days  at  Northampton, — the  most 
beautiful  of  villages,  in  the  midst  of  the  great  diluvial  meadows 
of  the  Connecticut.  These  meadows  are  not  alluvion,  made  by 
river  sediment ;  but  are  the  last  throw-down  of  the  diluvial  waves 
in  their  draining  off,  impeded  by  the  great  trap  dykes  thrown 
obliquely  across  the  valley.  The  dykes  rise  from  the  gently 
undulating  meadows,  very  abruptly,  and  command  magnificent 


1848  FIRST  YEAR  OF  PARISH  WORK  169 

scenery.  That  from  the  end  of  Holyoke  is  famous  and  worthy 
of  all  its  praise.  I  made  some  valuable  friends  at  Northampton. 
My  friend  Lyman  of  Amherst,  with  whom  I  was  at  Halle,  made 
me  comfortable  there,  and  introduced  me  to  the  celebrated  collec- 
tion of  bird-tracks  collected  by  Prof.  Hitchcock  who  was  unfort- 
unately absent.*  I  was  invited  by  the  Congregational  Minister  at 
Brattleboro  to  preach  for  him,  and  did  so  in  the  afternoon.  He 
only  requested  that  I  would  not  touch  moot  points.  Of  course  I 
would  not.  .  .  . 

The  people  here  [in  Milton]  during  my  absence  have  done  all 
that  I  could  desire;  they  have  signed  personally  men  and  women 
a  written  agreement  (fearful  lest  in  this  busy  season  a  meeting 
would  not  be  well  attended)  to  have  me  supply  them  for  a  year, 
.  .  .  and  dating  back  to  my  acceptance  of  the  call.  .  .  . 

Milton,  August  28.    To  his  Father. 

I  went  last  Thursday  to  hear  Bushnell's  oration  before  the 
Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  at  Cambridge.  It  was  very  rich,  acute, 
elegant  and  eloquent  and  gave  high  delight.  The  subject  was 
Work  and  Play;  work  preparatory  to  play.  .  .  . 

Hearing  such  rare  addresses  from  so  rare  a  man,  I  not  only 
inquire  why  there  are  so  few  such;  but  find  all  my  early  ambitions 
fired  again  to  attain  a  point  so  enviable.  .  .  . 

*  Years  later  my  father  wrote  the  obituary  notice  of  Edward  Hitchcock, 
and  read  it  before  the  meeting  of  the  American  Association  held  in  1867  at 
Northampton. 


CHAPTER  X 

Engagement.    1848 

Melton,  Oct.  9,  1848.    To  his  Father. 
I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  say  that  a  very  lovely  woman  has 
promised  to  be  my  wife.  ...  She  is  all  that  I  can  desire;  but  has 
neither  health  nor  wealth  at  present.  .  .  . 

It  was  with  these  words  that  my  father  announced  to 
his  father  that  which  was  the  most  momentous  event  of 
his  life. 

In  the  previous  summer  he  had  met  Susan  Inches  Lyman, 
daughter  of  Judge  Lyman  and  his  wife,  Anne  Jean,  of 
Northampton.  It  seems  to  have  been  instantly  felt  by 
both  the  young  people  that  they  belonged  to  each  other. 

Practically    everything    was    against    this    match.     My 
father  was  not  strong,  or,  at  least,  had  an  appearance  of 
delicacy  and  nervous   excitability,  and  had   no  established 
means  of  supporting   himself  or  a  family.     Moreover,  he 
was  hazarding  his  own   chosen  career  in  the  ministry  by 
heterodox  preaching.     My  mother  was  in  extremely  poor 
health  and  had  small  worldly  prospects.     Her  relatives  and 
friends  were  naturally  much  opposed  to  the  engagement, 
and  used  all  legitimate  means  of  prayer  and  persuasion  to 
at  least  delay  the  marriage.     But,  once  certain  of  the  affec- 
tion of  each  for  each,  neither  would  accede  to  adverse  argu- 
ment, and  both  were  firm  in  their  determination  to  shape 
their  future  as  seemed  right  to  themselves.     Yet  they  tried 
not  to  distress  those  nearest  to  them  in  affection  more  than 
was  necessary;    and  in  the  end  opposition  was  overcome, 
and  they  were  married  on  February  13,  1849,  with  the  good 
will  of  a  large  and  affectionate  circle  of  relatives  and  friends. 
Susan  Inches  Lyman  was  born  in  Northampton,  April  7, 
1823.     Her  father  was  Judge  Joseph  Lyman,  whose  mem- 
ory is  still  revered  in  Northampton.    Dr.  Rufus  Ellis  wrote 

of  him: — 

170 


JUDGE    JOSEPH   LYMAN 


ENGAGEMENT  171 

To  many,  many  hearts  the  words,  "Judge  Lyman"  are 
charmed  words.  They  call  up  the  image  of  one,  the  manly  beauty 
of  whose  person  was  but  the  fit  expression  of  a  most  noble  soul; 
they  recall  a  man  singularly  gifted  and  singularly  faithful,  a 
thinker,  clear-sighted,  yet  reverent,  a  lover  of  religious  Hberty, 
yet  only  for  the  pure  Gospel's  sake;  a  devoted  friend,  a  self- 
sacrificing  philanthropist,  an  ardent  patriot,  a  man  diligent  in 
business,  yet  ready  to  meet  the  largest  demands  of  every  hos- 
pitable office;  a  cheerful  giver,  one  who  made  virtue  venerable 
and  lovely  by  the  uniform  dignity,  grace,  and  courtesy  of  his 
manners,  and  by  the  sweetness  of  his  speech;  a  man  whose  moral 
and  social  qualities  so  occupied  attention,  that  we  could  hardly 
do  justice  to  a  very  wise,  discriminating  and  cultivated  intellect.* 


My  grandmother  wrote  the  following  words  of  her  hus- 
band soon  after  his  death: — 

His  life  has  been  an  uncommonly  happy  one,  owing  to  a  more 
calm  and  equable  temperament  than  is  usual — added  to  a  well- 
balanced  mind.  He  was  not  disturbed  by  the  little  inequalities 
and  mutations  which  must  occur  in  the  course  of  a  long  life. 
"Society,  Friendship,  and  Love,"  the  means  of  which  are  so 
abundantly  scattered  through  this  Universe,  furnished  his  great- 
est sources  of  enjoyment  through  life.  .  .  .  His  sympathies  were 
so  warm  that  his  friends'  happiness  increased  his  own.f 

Joseph  Lyman  was  born  about  1767,  as  my  mother 
says  that  he  was  forty-four  years  old  at  the  time  of  his  mar- 
riage to  her  mother,  October  30, 181 1.  He  had  been  earlier 
married  to  Elizabeth  Fowler,  and  had  a  family  of  five  chil- 
dren,— Elizabeth,  Samuel,  Mary,  Dvdght,  and  Jane  (a 
fourth  daughter,  Fanny,  had  died  at  the  age  of  twelve). J 

♦  From  page  66  of  "Recollections  of  my  Mother,"  by  Susan  I.  Lesley. 

t  Page  399,  "Recollections  of  my  Mother." 

t  Elizabeth,  born  October  16,  1792;  married  Samuel  Henshaw;  died  1875. 

Edmund  D wight,  born  November  20,  1795;  died  1834. 

Frances  Fowler,  born  August  31,  1797;  died  January  11,  1809. 

Samuel  Fowler,  bom  May  3,  1799;  died  January  3,  1876. 

Mary,  bom  March  27,  1802;  married  Thomas  Jones;  died  1834. 

Jane,  bom  April  22,  1804;  married  Stephen  Brewer;  died  March,  1859. 


172  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  x 

Judge  Lyman  came  of  New  England  farmer  stock.  He 
had  one  brother,  Erastus,  and  a  sister  Mary  (later  married 
to  Joseph  Lord).  He  owed  his  education  to  an  accident. 
Seeing  a  battle  with  the  Indians  [  ?]  when  a  child,  he  climbed 
into  a  tree  to  obtain  a  better  view,  became  faint  at  the  sight 
of  blood,  and  fell  to  the  ground,  breaking  his  skull,  which 
was  trepanned.  Being,  in  consequence  of  this  accident 
too  dehcate  to  go  to  school,  he  was  taught  by  the  pastor  of 
the  town,  who  fitted  him  at  eleven  years  of  age  to  enter 
Yale  College.  He  was  sent  thither  on  horseback,  seated 
behind  his  elder  brother,  going  barefoot  and  in  a  homespun 
suit  of  clothes. 

October  30,  181 1,  Judge  Joseph  Lyman  was  married  to 
my  grandmother,  Anne  Jean  Robbins,  daughter  of  Edward 
Hutchinson  Robbins,  of  Milton,  near  Boston. 

On  her  mother's  side  my  mother  traced  her  ancestry 
through  her  great-grandfather,  James  Murray,*  to  Scotch 
sources,  reaching  back  to  a  certain  "Outlaw,"  Murray,  nat- 
urally much  prized  by  the  youthful  members  of  the  family 
of  later  generations ;  and  through  her  grandfather,  Edward 
Hutchinson  Robbins,  to  that  notable  Anne  Hutchinson,  the 
"sectary,"  exile  and  martyr,  in  which  relationship  she  herself 
took  much  satisfaction.  She  loved  also  her  kinship  to  her 
great-grandfather,  Nathaniel  Robbins,  the  pastor  for  forty 
years  of  the  old  church  in  Milton;  and  she  delighted,  when 
she  was  an  old  woman  herself,  to  look  from  her  chamber 
window,  when  the  autumn  winds  had  cleared  the  view  from 
leafy  foliage,  at  the  white  spire  of  that  old  church  where  he 
had  so  long  and  faithfully  served  his  people.  Her  grand- 
father, Edward  Hutchinson  Robbins,  was  a  man  of  much 
force  and  sweetness  combined.  "A  man  of  noble  character 
and  warm  heart,  who  has  left  to  his  descendants  the  richest 
of  inheritances,  in  the  fine  flavor  of  humanity  that  has  kept 
his  memory  green,  even  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation," 
she  writes  in  her  volume  in  memory  of  her  mother  (page  17). 

To  her  mother's  memory  Susan  has  written  this  notable 
volume,  and  it  is  impossible  to  condense  into  a  few  sentences 

*  Letters  of  James  Murray,  Loyalist.  Edited  by  Nina  Moore  Tiffany, 
assisted  by  Susan  I.  Lesley.     Boston,  190 1. 


Mrs.  ANNE  JEAN  LYMAN 


ENGAGEMENT  173 

an  adequate  description  of  so  strong  and  varied  a  character. 
Anne  Jean  Robbins,  married  at  twenty-two  to  a  man  twice 
her  age,  became  at  once  his  cordial  companion  in  all  his 
active  work,  the  head  of  an  already  large  household,  a  power 
in  the  village  life,  a  mover  in  social  activities,  and  foremost 
in  such  reforms  as  the  time  demanded.  As  a  girl,  she  had 
shown  great  capacity  in  practical  matters.  She  came  of  a 
large  family  herself,  being  the  third  of  seven  sons  and  daugh- 
ters.* She  had  a  vigorous  mind  and  a  perfectly  healthy 
body,  and  was  rather  intolerant  of  weakness  in  any  form; 
but  her  warm  heart  prevented  this  intolerance  from  becom- 
ing hardness,  and  only  caused  her  presence  to  act  as  a  tonic 
upon  weaker  natures.  She  and  her  husband  were  very 
unlike  temperamentally,  but  sympathized  wholly  in  their 
spiritual  outlook  and  their  principles  of  life. 

They  had  five  children:  Joseph,  born  August  14,  1812; 
Anne  Jean,  born  July  7,  1815;  Edward  Hutchinson  Robbins, 
born  February  10,  1819;  Susan  Inches,  born  April  7,  1823; 
and  Catharine  Robbins,  born  January  12,  1825. 

My  grandmother  says  in  a  letter  written  to  a  favorite 
niece,  Abbie  Greene,  in  September,  1823,  "My  baby  was 
named  Susan  Inches;  and  a  loveher  creature  I  never  saw." 
Another  httle  daughter,  Catharine  Robbins,  born  about 
twenty  months  later,  was  also  an  exquisite  little  child.  The 
two  sisters  grew  up  together  in  united  loveliness  of  person 
and  spirit,  until  at  eighteen  Catharine  was  married  to  Warren 
Delano,  Jr.,  and  left  the  simple  life  of  the  Northampton 
home  to  live  in  New  York,  and  later  China,  under  much 
changed  surroundings  and  circumstances. 

*  Children  of  Elizabeth  Murray  Robbins  and  Edward  Hutchinson 
Robbins,  married  November,  1 785 : — 

Eliza,  born  August  26,  1786;  unmarried. 

Sarah  Lydia,  born  December  16,  1787;  married  Judge  Samuel  Howe. 

Anne  Jean,  born  July  3,  1789;  married  Judge  Joseph  Lyman. 

Edward  Hutchinson,  born  March  24,  1792;  married. 

Mary,  born  October  16,  1794;  married  Joseph  Revere  (son  of  Paul 
Revere). 

James  Murray,  born  June  30,  1796;  married  Frances  Mary  Harris. 

Catharine,  born  March  25,  1800;  unmarried. 

(Taken  from  Appendix  to  "Letters  of  James  Murray,  Loyalist.  Edited 
by  Nina  Moore  Tiffany.") 


174  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

The  Lyman  children  were  born  into  very  happy  surround- 
ings. The  older  brothers  and  sisters  were  near  and  dear, 
and,  as  these  married  and  were  established  in  homes  of  their 
own,  the  little  sisters  were  often  with  them.  One  half- 
sister,  Mary,  was  very  much  like  a  mother  to  the  little  Susan, 
and  she  remembered  always  her  bitter  grief  when  Mary 
married  Mr.  Jones,  and  left  home,  and  how  she  ran  weeping 
after  the  carriage  which  carried  off  the  bride  and  groom. 
Eliza,  the  oldest  of  the  half-sisters,  married  Mr.  Samuel 
Henshaw,  of  Boston,  and  went  there  to  live.  Samuel,  the 
oldest  son  of  the  first  marriage,  married  Miss  Almira  Smith 
of  East  Hampton,  settled  in  Northampton,  and  became 
Judge  Lyman  in  later  days,  and  a  much  beloved  and  re- 
spected citizen.  Jane  married  Mr.  Stephen  Brewer,  of 
Northampton.     Dwight  died  unmarried. 

The  deepest  sorrow  of  my  mother's  youth  was  the  death 
of  her  older  sister,  Anne  Jean,  a  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen,  with 
a  rare  character  of  sweetness  and  strength.  My  mother 
could  never  speak  of  Annie  without  emotion,  and  even  to 
the  end  of  her  own  long  life  this  was  a  never-forgotten  sorrow. 
She  owed  much  of  her  religious  feeling  to  this  sister,  who 
had  died  when  Susan  was  but  twelve  years  old;  and  Susan 
revered  her  as  a  saint  and  a  protecting  spirit,  besides  feel- 
ing her  to  be  a  best -beloved  sister. 

My  mother  was  much  more  like  her  father  than  her 
mother,  temperamentally,  mentally,  and  spiritually.  She 
used  to  say  that  she  was  almost  wholly  a  Lyman.  In  as- 
pect also  she  greatly  resembled  her  father.  She  had  the 
broad  forehead,  the  wide-sweeping  brow,  and  large  mild 
brown  eyes  that  are  almost  typical  in  the  Lyman  face, 
the  well-formed,  slightly  aquiline  nose,  and  firm,  shapely 
chin.  Her  small  mouth,  owing  to  much  ill-health  and 
suffering,  was  in  repose  rather  sad,  but,  when  she  spoke, 
her  whole  face  changed,  and  her  expression  became  both 
animated  and  serene.  From  her  father  she  also  inherited 
a  certain  emotional  tendency,  with  which  she  had  to  struggle 
throughout  life.  She  used  to  tell  how  her  mother  would 
sometimes  exclaim  in  times  of  family  excitement,  "  Oh,  those 
Lyman  flood-gates,  those  Lyman  flood-gates!"     Yet  my 


SUSAN  INCHES  LYMAN 
From  a  portrait  by  Chester  Harding.     Taken  about  1838 


ENGAGEMENT 


175 


mother  never  wept  in  times  of  stress  or  when  there  was  need 
for  action.  And  tears  never  came  to  her  when  they  might  have 
aided  her  in  gaining  a  point  or  in  caUing  forth  sympathy. 

She  had  great  powers  of  endurance,  and  fortitude  in 
suffering. 

She  had  a  great  love  of  books,  and  was  happy  in  being 
born  into  a  family  where  reading  was  one  of  the  recognized 
needs  of  hfe.  My  grandmother  was  of  course  a  very  busy 
woman,  but  she  used  to  keep  a  book  beside  her  on  the  table 
or  in  her  mending-basket,  and,  if  she  found  no  time  to  peruse 
it  herself,  would  get  one  of  the  children,  as  time  permitted, 
to  read  aloud  to  her.  Books  were  not  so  plenty  then  as 
now,  but  were  perhaps  more  prized,  and  those  volumes 
which  did  come  into  the  house  were  not  only  read,  but  dis- 
cussed with  avidity.  Grandmother  writes  to  her  niece  Abbie 
Greene  July  15,  1839: — 

Since  you  left  us,  Susan  has  read  aloud  to  me  the  first 
vol.  of  Sparks'  Life  of  Washington,  "Undine" — what  nonsense! 
and  stories  connected  with  the  times  of  Charles  II.,  which  are 
nearly  as  absurd  as  "Undine."  In  the  intervals,  Mr.  Lyman 
pegs  away  upon  Dwight's  Life  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  which,  how- 
ever, I  am  quite  interested  in,  as  it  shows  the  history  and  origin 
of  the  Democratic  Party. 


Susan,  I  doubt  not,  found  in  "Undine"  something  other 
than  nonsense.  She  was  a  very  sensitive  and  reserved  child, 
poetic  in  her  taste  and  full  of  sentiment.  She  might  have 
become  a  sentimentahst,  had  not  her  surroundings  been  so 
healthy  and  vigorous.  As  it  was,  her  love  of  the  beautiful, 
which  is  the  heart  of  true  sentiment,  served  to  glorify  and 
sanctify  the  things  of  hfe,  and  only  strengthened  her  char- 
acter, joined  as  this  sentiment  was  to  a  New  England  con- 
science and  a  strong  sense  of  duty. 

I  have  only  a  few  reminiscences  of  my  mother's  childhood. 
One  story,  which  she  told  me  a  few  years  ago,  seemed  to  me 
most  characteristic  of  her  thoughtful  and  religious  nature. 
She  and  her  Httle  sister  were  lying  in  bed,  side  by  side,  half 
asleep.     Some  guests  in  the  household  were  brought  in  to 


1 76  LIFE   AND   LETTERS  chap,  x 

look  at  the  little  girls,  and,  supposing  them  quite  uncon- 
scious, began  to  exclaim  at  their  beauty.  My  mother  lay 
quite  still,  but  heard  it  all.  She  was  troubled  at  first  that 
she  had  overheard  what  was  not  intended  for  her  ear,  and 
felt  a  sense  of  guilt.  Suddenly  these  words  of  William  Penn, 
which  she  had  somewhere  read,  came  into  her  mind:  "Art 
thou  beautiful?  Live  then  in  accordance  with  the  curious 
make  and  frame  of  thy  creation,  and  let  the  beauty  of  thy 
person  lead  thee  to  adorn  thy  mind  with  holiness,  the  orna- 
ment of  the  beloved  of  God."  The  words  comforted  her, 
and  she  fell  peacefully  asleep.  I  found  only  a  few  months 
before  her  death  these  same  words  tremulously  pencilled 
on  a  piece  of  paper  in  her  portfolio,  showing  that  the  re- 
membrance of  that  distant  night  remained  with  her  through- 
out her  long  life. 

Another  little  incident  I  find  mentioned  in  a  letter  of 
July  10,  1883,  from  Boston,  to  her  "children  in  the  West":' — 

Sunday  I  stepped  down  to  King's  Chapel  to  hear  Henry 
Foote  and  enjoy  the  service,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  be  there  again. 
I  recalled  a  time  when  Cousin  Mary  Ware  took  me,  a  child  of 
five,  with  John,  a  child  of  seven,  to  see  a  great  wedding  in  the 
church,  I  can't  remember  whose.  But  I  got  frightened  about 
the  great  sounding-board,  and  suggested  to  John  that  it  might 
come  down  on  the  Minister's  head.  And  John  thought  it  cer- 
tainly would,  which  did  not  reassure  me.  And  so  we  clung 
together  as  children  do  in  that  half-fear,  half-drama  of  fear,  in 
which  they  have  a  queer  pleasure,  until  the  wedding  party  came 
in  and  absorbed  our  attention  and  dispersed  our  fears.  I  don't 
believe  I  have  ever  been  in  that  church  but  once  since, — and  how 
it  all  came  back  to  me. 

Happy  as  she  was  in  her  family,  she  was  yet  much  alone 
in  her  inner  life,  as  all  fine  natures  must  be,  and  sometimes 
felt  a  lack  of  understanding  in  those  around  her.  This  is 
but  a  phase,  however,  in  all  youthful  development,  and  one 
need  not  dwell  on  it.  I  only  mention  it  here  because  in  her 
marriage  she  found  just  that  comprehension  of  her  inmost 
nature  which  filled  her  heart  with  entire  content  and  a 
sense  of  repose  unknown  before. 


ENGAGEMENT  177 

One  thing  she  used  to  tell  her  children  later  as  one  of 
the  best  lessons  learned  in  her  youth  from  her  mother: 
"Mother  used  to  tell  me,  'Susan,  it  doesn't  matter  in  the 
least  what  other  people  do  to  you,  but  it  matters  very  much 
what  you  do  to  other  people';  and  I  have  blessed  her  for 
that  lesson  all  my  life."  It  stiffened  a  sensitive  nature  to 
meet  the  inevitable  buffets  of  life  with  an  unperturbed 
spirit. 

Of  friends  she  had  a  host,  some  of  them  dear  as  her 
family  itself.  Her  father's  house  was  open  for  hospitality 
the  year  round,  and  to  it  came  some  of  the  finest  men  and 
women  of  the  time.  That  in  itself  was  the  best  kind  of 
education  which  a  child  could  have. 

As  for  regular  school  education,  I  think  Susan  had  few 
opportunities,  chiefly  because  of  her  delicate  health.  She 
was  at  one  time  for  a  year  or  two  in  school  at  Deerfield,  a 
lovely  village  in  the  Connecticut  Valley,  a  little  north  of 
Northampton;  and  later,  when  she  was  about  fourteen  years 
old,  she  was  sent  to  Mr.  George  B.  Emerson's  school  in 
Boston,  famous  as  the  best  of  its  kind  in  that  day.  Here 
she  formed  several  lifelong  friendships,  chief  among  which 
were  those  with  Margaret  Eliot  Harding*  and  Lucretia  P. 
Hale.  Margaret  she  had  known  and  loved  from  infancy, 
and  Lucretia  from  a  little  later  period.  For  her  teacher, 
Mr.  Emerson,  she  had  great  veneration  and  affection. 

I  find  a  volume  of  letters  marked  ^^ Pentad  Letters, ^^ 
which  mark  this  period.  The  Pentad  consisted  of  Lucretia 
Hale,  Margaret  Harding,  Mary  Bangs,  Annie  Barnard, 
and  Susan  Lyman.  They  all  married,  excepting  Lucretia 
Hale,  and  became  respectively  Mrs.  William  Orne  White, 
Mrs.  Edward  Head,  Mrs.  William  Davis,  and  Mrs.  Peter 
Lesley. 

My  mother's  oldest  brother,  Joseph,  married  Miss  Susan 
Bulfinch  Coolidge,  and  settled  near  Boston;  the  second 
brother,  Edward,  married  Miss  Sarah  Low,  and  lived  in 
Brooklyn;     and    her    younger    sister,    Catharine,    married 

*  Sketch  of  the  life  of  Margaret  E.  White  by  her  daughter,  Ehza  Ome 
White,  in  "After  Noontide,"  published  by  Houghton,  Miffin  &  Co., 
1907. 


178  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

Warren  Delano,  Jr.,  and  went  to  New  York,  and  soon  after 
to  China,  where  she  spent  three  years,  returning  in  1847 
to  New  York. 

After  Catharine's  return  to  New  York,  my  mother  used 
often  to  visit  her,  and  found  there  also  her  mother's  old 
friend,  Lydia  Maria  Child,  whom  she  delighted  to  be  with. 
Mrs.  Child  had  a  circle  of  interesting  people  around  her, 
to  whom  she  introduced  her  young  friend.  Among  these 
were  Isaac  T.  Hopper,  his  son  John  and  his  wife  Rosa,  his 
sister  Mrs.  Gibbons,  Sidney  Howard  Gay  and  his  wife 
Elizabeth,  and  others  of  that  set  who  were  interested  in  the 
great  reform  of  the  day,  Anti-slavery,  as  well  as  in  other 
good  works.  With  John  Hopper,  Susan  visited  the  slums 
of  New  York,  and  became  deeply  interested  in  the  problems 
of  poverty  and  distress  to  which  in  later  life  she  found 
time  to  devote  herself  with  wisdom  and  energy. 

In  the  winter  of  1846  her  mother  had  a  terrible  illness, 
called  at  that  time  black  erysipelas,  from  whose  effects 
she  never  wholly  recovered, — as  my  mother  expresses  it, 
"an  illness  whose  consequences  darkened  the  whole  re- 
mainder of  her  life." 

In  December,  1847,  her  father  died  at  an  advanced  age, 
from  the  last  of  several  attacks  of  paralysis. 

My  mother,  as  I  have  said  above,  was  of  a  very  delicate 
physique,  and  had  throughout  her  life  much  ill-health  and 
suffering. 

But,  although  delicate,  she  was  full  of  reserve  force,  and 
was  possessed  of  a  most  active  mind.  She  never  would 
allow  herself  to  be  called  an  invalid  or  admit  that  she  was 
exempt  from  the  ordinary  duties  and  cares  of  life.  On  the 
contrary,  the  moment  disabling  pain  left  her,  she  was  at 
work  again,  and  she  accomplished  much  more  than  many 
a  strong  and  vigorous  person,  because  possessed  of  the  in- 
tention of  "service,"  and  a  high  resolve  to  accomplish  all 
that  her  nature  demanded  from  her. 

It  was  perhaps  a  spiritual  similarity  which  drew  my 
father  and  mother  together.  My  father's  spiritual  inheri- 
tance and  development  I  have  endeavored  to  show  in  the 
previous  chapters.    My  mother's  I  can  only  hint  at  in  a  few 


ENGAGEMENT  1 79 

words,  for  I  have  fewer  records  of  her  early  experiences. 
In  preparing  the  life  of  her  mother,  I  think  she  must  have 
destroyed  all  the  family  letters  and  records  which  she  did 
not  use  in  her  book.  At  any  rate  they  are  not  now  in  my 
possession. 

I  have  said  already  that  she  came  of  earnest  and  active 
parents,  and  that  her  home  was  the  resort  of  many  of  the 
finest  men  and  women  which  New  England  produced. 
Shortly  before  her  birth  her  parents  went  through  the 
experience  of  a  change  of  religious  belief.  They  adopted 
the  Unitarian  heresy,  left  the  old  church  (Jonathan  Ed- 
wards's church),  and  with  a  handful  of  other  persons  formed 
the  Unitarian  society.  In  her  Memorial  Volume  she  has 
given  a  description  of  this  notable  event  in  the  family  life. 

She  herself  was  brought  up  in  ardent  liberalism.  She 
used  to  say  she  sometimes  thought  that  her  intensity  of  love 
for  the  Unitarian  faith  may  have  come  from  her  having 
been  born  at  a  time  when  her  father  and  mother  were  going 
through  the  pain  and  excitement  and  spiritual  exaltation 
of  leaving  the  old  faith  and  joining  with  the  httle  company 
of  worshippers  in  the  new  society  of  Unitarian  Christians. 
Whatever  we  may  think  of  the  theory  of  pre-natal  influence, 
it  is  certain  that  her  religious  feehng  was  profound  and 
fervent.  The  "pale  negations"  of  HberaHsm  were  not 
for  her.  It  was  the  joy  of  hving  in  the  freedom  of  truth, 
of  worshipping  that  which  her  mind  and  heart  could  both 
approve,  which  filled  her  with  a  glow  of  solemn  joy;  and 
her  faith  was  always  with  her,  a  burning  and  a  shining  light 
to  the  last  days  of  her  long  hfe. 

I  have  a  long  series  of  letters  written  by  my  mother  to 
her  most  intimate  friend,  the  afore -mentioned  Margaret  Eliot 
Harding,  beginning  with  the  date  of  August,  1838,  when 
they  were  both  scholars  in  Mr.  George  B.  Emerson's  school, 
and  were  fifteen  years  old. 

It  is  the  record  of  a  most  intimate  friendship,  beautiful 
in  its  unbroken  constancy  and  in  the  entire  and  sympathetic 
understanding  and  love  which  existed  between  two  noble 
women.  Their  friendship  was  of  the  healthy,  strengthening 
kind  which  is  born  of  respect  as  well  as  of  love,  and  there 


i8o  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

was  nothing  exclusive  in  it.  It  embraced  as  well  a  number 
of  "mutual"  friends,  very  dear  to  both.  Margaret  Harding 
was  a  rare  character,  strong  and  sweet,  with  a  broad  sym- 
pathy and  tolerance,  combined  with  strong  common  sense 
and  great  practical  ability.  My  mother  always  felt  her 
a  tower  of  strength  and  comfort  in  times  of  uncertainty  or 
trouble,  and  craved  her  companionship  at  all  times. 

These  girhsh  letters  constitute  my  best  record  of  my 
mother's  early  life.  They  are  much  more  mature  and 
introspective  in  tone  than  letters  written  by  the  modern 
girl.  She  used  to  tell  me  that  she  was  very  "sentimental" 
in  those  days.  But  I  find  nothing  morbid  in  them,  although 
perhaps  I  must  admit  that  they  disclose  a  somewhat  over- 
introspective  and  over-conscientious  tone  in  regard  to  per- 
sonal responsibility.  They  are  the  evidence  of  an  intensely 
thoughtful,  sensitive,  and  religious  nature. 

Her  mind  was  open  to  the  influences  which  surrounded 
her,  rejoicing  hourly  in  the  beauty  of  her  mountains  and 
valley,  the  sounds  and  sights  of  the  varying  seasons,  the 
faces  of  her  friends,  and  the  intercourse  of  an  unusually 
fine  social  circle.  Books  were  a  source  of  constant  interest, 
and  are  descanted  upon  often  and  at  length.  She  and 
Margaret  read  a  great  variety  of  literature,  but  novels 
seem  to  have  occupied  their  attention  much  less  than 
more  solid  matter.  They  write  of  "Pride  and  Prejudice" 
and  "Valerian,"  but  more  frequently  and  at  greater  length 
of  such  books  as  Sparks' s  Life  of  Washington,  Bancroft's 
History,  Ripley's  translation  of  Cousin  and  Jouffroy,  Young's 
"Pilgrim  Fathers,"  Wordsworth's  "Poems,"  Robertson's 
"Charles  V.,"  etc. 

There  are  many  references  to  music.  My  mother  was 
never  strong  enough  to  do  much  herself  in  the  way  of  prac- 
tising, but  she  rejoiced  in  every  opportunity  to  hear  good 
music.  Occasionally  something  worth  while  came  to 
Northampton,  and  the  year  or  two  in  which  Mr.  John  S. 
Dwight  was  settled  over  the  little  Unitarian  parish  brought 
to  the  young  people  of  the  place  a  new  knowledge  of  what 
was  lastingly  fine  in  music.  He  introduced  them  to  Beet- 
hoven, and  this  was  the  rising  of  a  great  new  light  on  their 


SUSAN  INCHES  LYMAN 
From  a  portrait  by  Sully.     Taken  in  Philadelphia  in  1844 


ENGAGEMENT  i8i 

horizon.  Every  visit  to  Boston  and  New  York  was  glori- 
fied by  some  opportunity,  eagerly  seized,  to  hear  fine  con- 
certs. There  was  much  singing  in  the  little  circle,  and 
they  mention  many  songs  of  old  days  now  quite  forgotten. 
Among  these  I  note  "They  have  given  her  to  another," 
"Oh,  cast  that  shadow  from  thy  brow,"  "Cara  Liza," 
"Believe  me,  if  all  those  endearing  young  charms,"  "Tell 
me,  kind  seer,  I  pray  thee." 

There  was  much  household  work  for  Susan  and  her 
friend,  inevitable  to  the  daughters  of  large  families  with 
only  moderate  means.  They  exchange  accounts  of  house- 
work and  cooking,  patterns  for  "night-caps"  and  sacques, 
etc. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  that  my  mother  had  been  very 
fond  of  riding  horseback.  In  one  place  she  speaks  of  a 
sixteen-mile  ride,  and  in  another  letter  speaks  of  finding 
that  this  exercise  is  the  best  cure  for  headache  that  she 
has  ever  experienced. 

Living  in  a  village,  she  naturally  early  learned  to  feel 
interest  in  the  sick  and  poor,  and  to  minister  to  them  in 
the  neighborly  spirit.  Later  in  life  she  carried  this  inter- 
est into  wider  circles,  without  losing  that  personal  touch 
which  alone  can  make  charity  vitally  effective. 

Religion  was  an  active  interest  in  their  lives,  and  the 
weekly  sermon  is  often  described  and  discussed.  Many  of 
the  great  preachers  of  Unitarianism  were  young  men  in 
those  days,  and  their  names  are  often  mentioned  in  these 
pages,  sometimes  with  a  prophetic  instinct  as  to  the  power 
that  was  to  come.  Among  the  ministers  most  frequently 
spoken  of  were  Rufus  Ellis,  who  was  for  a  number  of  years 
their  much-loved  pastor,  and  Edward  Everett  Hale,  just 
then  beginning  his  pastoral  life.  James  Freeman  Clarke, 
Henry  W.  Bellows,  and  others  appear  from  time  to  time. 

Of  the  older  ministers  she  knew  and  loved  Henry  Ware 
and  the  Peabodys;   and  of  the  great  Channing  she  writes: — - 

July  15,  1848. 

I  have  been  recalling  Mr.  Channing  as  I  remember  him  when 
I  went  to   Lenox  with  him  long  years  ago,  the  spring  of  Mr. 


1 82  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

Dwight's  ordination.  I  can  bring  him  before  me  very  vividly  as 
he  sat  on  some  high  hill,  with  a  large  shawl  wrapped  round  his 
little,  feeble  frame,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  looking 
at  the  beautiful  prospects.  He  used  to  get  out  of  the  stage  and 
walk  up  the  hills;  I  did  not  dare  to  speak  to  him  then,  but  I  re- 
member distinctly  his  conversations  with  older  people. 

Speaking  of  Channing's  letters,  which  she  was  reading 
with  delight,  she  writes: — 

Did  you  observe  a  certain  something  in  many  of  his  letters 
to  friends  that  seemed  like  the  Christ-like  authority  with  which 
Fenelon  always  writes  upon  spiritual  subjects  ?  It  is  a  tone  which 
I  cannot  describe,  humble,  yet  assured,  a  sort  of  certainty  quite 
different  from  the  beautiful  speculations  of  many  new  lights. 

From  these  letters  I  will  copy  only  a  few  extracts,  merely 
suggestive  of  her  daily  interests.  I  cannot,  however,  give 
the  tone  of  the  whole  series,  which  varies  with  her  mood 
from  gay  to  sad,  and  is  truly  an  index  to  her  gentle  yet 
strong  nature. 

March  2nd,  '39. 

I  feel  so  differently  to-day  from  what  I  ever  did  before.  I 
have  heard  our  dear  Mr.  Emerson's  farewell  address,  and  I  can- 
not tell  you  how  it  affects  me. 

Throughout  her  life  Emerson's  writings  and  philosophy 
were  among  her  chief  satisfactions  and  a  constant  source 
of  inspiration.  She  could  not  understand  how  people  failed 
to  catch  the  meaning  of  his  words.  To  her  they  were  as 
clear  as  day.  The  days  when  she  heard  him  speak  or 
met  him  for  a  few  moments  were  "red-letter  days." 

March  10th,  '40. 

When  you  come  back, — oh,  how  soon  will  that  be  ? — ^and  we 
all  meet,  if  it  is  permitted  us, — oh,  I  can't  help  thinking  what  a 
transcendental  meeting  that  will  be. 

April  13,  '41. 

I  went  on  Sunday  to  hear  Mr.  James  Freeman  Clarke  preach, 
.  .  .  you  would  have  enjoyed  it.  .  .  .  Lu  [Lucretia  Hale]  has  given 
me  Jemmy  Lowell's  poems;  are  not  many  of  them  perfect? 


1841  ENGAGEMENT  183 

July  3,  '41. 

How  strange  that  we  five  [the  Pentad]  who  feel  so  much  alike 
in  everything  else  should  also  be  troubled  with  very  much  the 
same  mental  feelings !  It  is  as  you  say,  dear  Meggie,  the  addition 
of  care  as  we  grow  older  does  sober  us  some,  and  it  is  natural  it 
should.  When  we  are  perfectly  reconciled  to  the  change,  we  shall 
be  very  happy  and  cease  to  look  back  upon  the  loss  of  our  light- 
heartedness  with  as  much  regret,  though  I  imagine  there  will  be 
to  the  end  of  our  lives  a  bright  halo  round  those  lost  days  which 
will  shine  in  our  hearts  and  kindle  our  speech  whenever  we  meet. 
Imagine  us  five  trembling  old  women,  talking  over  the  past.  But 
I  will  not  anticipate  such  a  time,  for  it  is  rarely  given  to  so  many 
intimate  friends  to  live  to  old  age.  _. 

5'u  s  <***  J.  f 
May  6,  1842.       1^^,,^-t 

How  apt  we  are  to  change  our  impressions  of  people  when  j,^^  .^f  f| 
we  really  see  them!  I  had  never  thought  of  Mrs.  Chapman*  in 
any  other  way  than  as  the  great  Abolition  woman  who  spoke  at 
public  meetings,  and  whose  name  was  in  all  the  newspapers. 
But  I  was  surprised  to  see  a  lady  of  such  quiet,  unobtrusive  man- 
ners, and  such  interesting  conversation  on  all  subjects.  When 
she  spoke  of  slavery,  her  manner  was  very  fervent,  and  her  voice 
deep,  as  if  her  whole  soul  had  dwelt  upon  the  matter  until  it  had 
kindled  all  the  enthusiasm  she  had;  but  there  was  something  so 
very  persuasive  about  her,  so  gentle  and  free  from  all  violence, 
that  though  I  could  not  feel  as  if  she  had  the  whole  truth  of  the 
thing,  yet  there  was  a  something  that  could  not  fail  to  excite  ad- 
miration. 

Oct.  15,  1842. 

I  have  had  a  high  enjoyment  of  late.  .  .  .  Joe  [her  brother 
Joseph  Lyman]  was  kind  enough  to  let  me  read  a  file  of  Charles 
Emerson's  t  letters,  written  to  him  in  their  college  days  and  after. 
and  you  can  easily  beheve  they  would  be  interesting  if  only  for 
the  fact  of  their  intimate  friendship.  But  they  are  full  not  only 
of  deepest  affection,  but  of  the  purest  sentiments,  most  perfect 
love  of  truth,  and  an  undoubting  faith  in  the  elevation  our  souls 
can  attain  to  on  earth.  I  felt  as  it  were  inspired  while  I  read 
them,  and  they  did  me  much  good. 

*  Maria  Weston  Chapman. 

\  The  youngest  brother  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  who  died  in  youth. 


1 84  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

Of  their  friend  Lucretia  Hale  she  writes: — 

Oct.  15,  '42. 

I  have  always  felt  about  her  that  few  are  worthy  to  enter 
into  the  sanctuary  of  her  thoughts,  and  shall  always  be  satisfied 
if  I  may  have  but  a  few  ghmpses. 

Jan.  27,  '44. 

I  have  been  thinking  much  of  my  childhood  lately.  .  .  .  then 
I  was  a  child  if  I  ever  was.  You  and  I  never  were  children, — 
how  strange  it  seems  to  me  to  hear  people  looking  back  to  their 
childhood  as  light-hearted  and  unconscious!  mine  never  was. 
Can  you  remember  the  moment  since  you  were  a  very  little  child 
that  you  had  not  a  sense  of  personal  responsibility  ?  .  .  .  My  child- 
hood had  clouds,  and  I  saw  nothing  behind ;  there  have  been  some 
clouds  too  over  my  youth,  but  they  have  all  had  silver  linings  to 
some  extent,  and  some  very  shining  ones.  Yet  I  love  to  think 
of  those  times,  for  whatever  our  childhood  was,  those  were  the 
hours  when  our  angels  beheld  the  face  of  our  Father  in  heaven. 

Members  of  such  large  families,  heavy  sorrows  were  sure 
to  be  frequent  visitors  to  their  hearts.  Changes  and  losses 
often  made  them  sad  enough. 

Speaking  of  a  friend's  interest  in  Fourierism,  she  says : — 

Nov.  gth,  '44. 

I  am  not  at  all  interested  in  it.  ...  I  believe  as  he  does  that 
Society  is  wrong  in  many  things,  and  I  mourn  for  its  faults  and 
inequalities,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  no  new  social  organization 
can  remedy  these  evils, — that  all  reform  must  begin  inwardly, 
not  outwardly. 

Cambridge,  Aug.  26th,  '48. 

Yesterday  I  enjoyed  the  Phi  beta  unspeakably.  Dr.  Bush- 
nell  was  grand.  His  subject  was  that  Idea  I  have  been  thinking 
about  more  than  any  other  for  years,  that  the  end  of  all  work  is 
play.*  He  carried  it  out  very  fully  indeed,  into  so  many  rela- 
tions that  I  should  have  to  talk  it  over  with  you,  to  give  you  the 
faintest  conception.     It  was  very  Madame  Guyon-ish. 

I  have  enjoyed  these  two  days  highly  from  the  fact  that  James 

*  I  note  with  interest  that  my  mother  and  father  were  both  present  at 
this  Phi  Beta  address,  probably  quite  unconscious  of  each  other's  presence. 


1848  ENGAGEMENT  185 

Thayer  and  Chauncey  Wright  have  entered  Harvard,  and  James 
without  a  single  condition.  Mother  is  a  Httle  too  happy.  She 
spent  this  day  in  preparing  his  room, — putting  down  a  carpet. 
.  .  .  Aunt  Howe  is  my  dehght.  Mary  Howe  and  I  have  been 
sitting  at  the  window,  and  saw  our  two  Ancients  set  forth,  arm 
in  arm,  with  hammer  and  tacks,  Aunt  Howe  hobbHng  along, 
and  mother  dressed  like  any  old  Irishwoman.  We  have  chris- 
tened them  the  Cheeryble  sisters. 

I  copy  no  more  of  these  letters  here,  because  we  reach 
in  the  above  extracts  the  date  of  her  engagement  and  mar- 
riage. 

A  little  while  ago,  in  reading  the  volume  of  "  Letters  from 
George  William  Curtis  to  John  S.  Dwight,"  page  137,  I 
came  upon  the  following  sentence,  which  I  think  well  ex- 
presses the  impression  my  mother  made  at  this  time  upon 
acquaintances : — • 

At  our  church,  a  few  Sundays  since,  I  saw  Mrs.  Delano, 
late  Kate  Lyman,  and  her  sister  Susan.  The  latter  was  beauti- 
ful. She  seemed  like  a  pure,  passionless  saint.  Had  I  been  in 
a  Catholic  church  I  had  imagined  her  to  have  been  some  holy 
being,  incarnated  by  her  deep  sympathy  with  the  worshippers. 
I  hardly  saw  her,  just  enough  to  receive  a  poetic  impression. 

It  was  in  the  late  summer  of  1848  that  my  mother 
first  met  my  father,  he  having  gone  to  Northampton  for  a 
few  days.  I  believe  he  stayed  during  those  days  at  her 
home.  The  engagement  was  not  consummated  until  the 
autumn. 

I  have  said  that  my  father  and  mother  were  alike  in  their 
spiritual  life.  In  other  respects  they  were  very  unlike, 
forming  counterparts  to  each  other.  My  mother  was  by 
nature  calm  and  hopeful,  not  naturally  nervous,  and  much 
inclined  to  underrate  physical  suffering  in  herself.  My 
father,  imaginative  and  excitable,  inclined  to  melancholy 
moods,  and  extremely  sensitive  as  to  physical  conditions. 
My  mother  loved  a  quiet  and  somewhat  uniform  life.  My 
father   delighted   in   change   and   variety.     Yet   were   they 


1 86  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

absolutely  happy  when  together,  and  their  differences  of 
temperament  and  desire  were  usually  only  cause  for  friendly 
merriment  between  them. 

Both  were  great  workers,  both  had  great  respect  for 
each  other's  occupations;  and  each  respected  also  the  indi- 
vidual liberty  of  the  other,  and  thus  was  prevented  much 
of  the  friction  in  household  life  so  common  where  different 
temperaments  dwell  together.  My  father  was  in  his  way 
very  orderly,  my  mother  very  unmethodical.  Both  loved 
beauty  in  art  and  nature,  and  both  had  a  wise  insight  into 
character.  My  mother  had  also  great  tact  in  social  inter- 
course, something  in  which  my  father  at  times  was  a  little 
lacking. 

But  I  am  sketching  their  characters  as  seen  in  the  long- 
drawn  perspective  of  years,  and  must  return  to  let  the  story 
tell  itself  in  their  own  words. 

Milton,  Oct.  g,  1848.    To  his  Father. 

My  dear  Father,  I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  say  that  a  very 
lovely  woman  has  promised  to  be  my  wife.  She  is  all  that  I  can 
desire;  but  has  neither  health  nor  wealth  at  present.  ...  [I  repeat 
the  words  beginning  this  chapter.]  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robbins,  my 
kind  friends  on  Brush  Hill,  treat  me  as  their  child,  and  Susan 
is  their  niece.  .  .  .  Susan  is  a  woman  with  a  thousand  friends,  of 
great  beauty,  and  the  most  childlike  truth  and  gentleness, — but 
with  a  will  which  nothing  like  mere  authority  or  force  can  change. 
She  is  twenty-five,  and  has  been  disciplined  to  the  deepest  piety 
by  sorrow  and  struggle.  She  has  been  trained  up  a  Unitarian 
in  her  theological  opinions,  but  a  humble,  diligent,  guileless  Chris- 
tian in  her  sentiments,  with  a  hope  that  is  as  bright  as  sunlight, 
and  a  simple-minded  faith  which  will  greatly  strengthen  and  con- 
firm my  own.     You  will  love  her  very  much. 

She  has  been  very  ill  lately,  I  went  to  Springfield  and  took 
her  to  Brooklyn,  where  she  now  is  fast  convalescing.  .  .  .  Our 
united  income  will  not  be  over  $1,000,  but  we  are  prepared  to  cut 
our  clothes  according  to  our  cloth,  until  it  grows  larger.  It  has 
become  impossible  for  me  to  live  unmarried,  and  God  has,  by  a 
very  odd  series  of  conjunctions,  sent  me  just  the  wife  I  can  be 
most  happy  with,  and  to  whom  I  am  already  entirely  attached. 
I  know,  dear  Father,  that,  though  you  may  think  I  were  wiser  to 
seek  more  of  the  means  of  comfortable  living  with  a  wife,  I  shall 


1848  ENGAGEMENT  187 

as  it  is  have  your  affectionate  sympathy  in  my  present  happiness, 
which  is  very  great.  .  .  . 

To  this  letter  his  father  replied  with  the  affection  and 
good  will  which  his  son  expected  with  certainty  from  him. 
Later  the  father  became  deeply  attached  to  his  son's  wife, 
and  sent  many  messages  to  "that  dear  Susan,"  although 
it  was  not  until  after  a  number  of  years  that  they  met  per- 
sonally with  any  frequency. 

To  his  aunt  Hall,  his  nearest  and  dearest  friend  after 
his  father,  my  father  wrote  October  16: — 

. .  .  Susan  is  just  everything  that  my  heart  and  taste  demand, 
simple  and  refined,  truthful  as  yourself,  and  gentle  and  forgiving, 
but  full  of  energy  and  of  a  determined  will,  a  Christian  from  a 
child,  and  brought  up  under  the  best  of  influences,  full  of  reading 
and  a  beautiful  pianist,* — loving  me  with  an  entire  confidence 
which  is  wonderful,  and  beloved  by  a  host  of  friends  herself,  as  few 
ever  were.  You  will  be  startled  when  I  tell  you  that  she  is  a  Uni- 
tarian by  birth,  education,  and,  I  suppose,  conviction,  and  that  she 
is  likely  to  continue  so.  But  her  Christianity  is  of  the  most  perfect 
sort,  and  while  she  continues  to  teach  me  how  to  love  and  follow 
Christ,  I  shall  not  be  very  anxious  about  her  opinions  respecting 
his  mysterious  nature.  She  will  be  the  wife  of  an  orthodox  minis- 
ter, and  in  closest  contact  with  Trinitarians,  but  I  have  learned, 
after  our  Lord's  example,  to  think  much  more  of  the  purity  of 
men's  hearts  and  their  love  to  God  and  their  fellow-men  than  of 
the  distinction  of  their  reasonings  upon  the  doctrines  of  the  Church. 
I  judge  all  men  by  their  fruits,  and  judging  thus,  I  have  an  angel 
in  a  wife.  .  .  . 

All  the  letters  of  this  period  show  a  warmth  of  love  and 
interest  in  their  families  and  friends  which  proves  the  lack 
of  the  exclusive  element  in  their  affection,  and  is  very  in- 
dicative of  the  spirit  of  their  later  life  together.     They  were 

*  My  mother  would  have  smiled  with  amusement  over  this  item. 
She  did  play  on  the  piano  with  feeling,  and  loved  good  music.  Her  good 
taste  in  that  respect  she  always  said  she  owed  to  the  influence  of  John  S. 
Dwight, — at  one  time  minister  to  their  little  society  in  Northampton,  who 
was  later  the  regenerator  of  musical  culture  in  New  England. 


1 88  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

so  completely  content  and  happy  in  each  other  that  they 
longed  to  share  their  joy  with  all  they  loved,  and  to  enrich 
other  lives.  There  are  many  letters  to  other  friends,  written 
at  this  time,  overflowing  with  affection,  and  breathing  the 
most  genuine  interest  in  the  affairs  of  those  dear  to  them. 

I  give  here  one  letter  from  my  father  to  Miss  Catherine 
Robbins,  my  mother's  aunt,  which,  although  of  almost  too 
intimate  a  character  for  print,  has  yet  a  certain  abstract 
quality  which  makes  me  willing  to  publish  it.  It  is  so  fine 
an  apology  and  justification  of  their  unworldly  and  seemingly 
reckless  marriage  that  it  may  give  courage  to  some  other 
young  couple  to  risk  poverty  and  discomfort,  in  the  belief 
that  a  marriage  entered  into  with  strong  affection  and  earnest 
purpose  does  not  need  certainty  of  material  possessions  to 
make  it  a  success. 

Milton,  Oct.  6,  1848. 

My  dear  Friend,  you  will  find  this  to  be  no  idle  form  of  ad- 
dress, either,  on  my  side.  I  shall  love  those  best  whom  Susan 
loves  most,  and  who  are  truly  her  best  friends. 

You  are  kind  in  writing.  I  expected  just  such  a  letter  and 
thank  you  for  it.  I  do  not  wholly  deserve  your  good  opinion,  but 
shall  in  time.  I  have  much  to  learn,  and  to  do,  and  to  become. 
The  oldest  and  best  have. 

You  accuse  me  of  rashness.  What  do  you  think  of  Susan  ? 
She  was  a  thousand-fold  the  more  rash  of  the  two.  I  knew  on 
what  /  staked  life  (if  the  experience  of  ten  active  years  and  much 
forced  and  earnest  contemplation  of  the  world  were  to  be  at  all 
relied  upon),  and  the  voice  of  every  New  England  friend  I  have, 
who  knows  her,  justified  my  judgment.  Do  you  account  a  man 
rash  for  stooping  to  pick  up  a  guinea  the  moment  he  sees  it  in 
his  path?  Would  you  advise  him  to  walk  on  and  return  twenty 
times,  walk  round  and  round  it,  and  at  last  examine  it  with  anx- 
ious scrutiny,  when  the  whole  experience  of  his  business  life 
enables  him  to  detect  its  nature  in  an  instant,  and  test  its  goodness 
with  a  single  wave  of  the  hand?  You  know  in  your  own  heart 
that  I  was  not  rash  in  stretching  my  hand  out  towards  the  treas- 
ure the  instant  I  fairly  saw  it.  And  so  little  hope  had  I,  that 
rashness  was  my  only  salvation;  had  1  delayed,  I  should  never 
have  dared,  but  have  suffered  both  torture  and  loss.  You  say 
a  boy  of  18  could  not  have  done  worse.  I  know  it  and  am  delighted 
to  find  that  I  have  so  much  of  that  delightful  spontaneity  of  life 


1848  ENGAGEMENT  1 89 

left,  in  which  I  once  revelled  all  the  year  long.  You  heard  Bush- 
nell's  Phi  Beta  Kappa;  you  know  the  difference  between  work 
and  play.  I  did  what  I  did,  because  I  was  inspired;  not  beside 
myself — a  spectator  coolly  calculating  chances  and  changes,  as 
some  of  my  kind  friends  are  doing — but  simply  myself,  moved 
from  within,  as  a  man  ought  to  be,  not  from  without;  conscious 
not  of  being  under  dominion  to  the  world,  but  of  right  and  power 
to  make  times  and  things  subserve  me.  I  hope  always  to  be  thus 
rash.  The  bad  man  dares  not  be  rash:  he  must  consider  the 
consequences  of  every  step,  for  he  deserves  evil.  The  good 
man,  just  in  the  measure  of  his  having  attained  to  pure  wishes  and 
a  right  will,  becomes  rash,  or  spontaneous,  and  finds  his  highest 
safety  and  chief  glory  therein.  Now  you  know,  dear  Friend, 
that  my  conduct  in  this  matter  best  illustrates  this  truth.  Had 
I  not  seen  and  loved,  wished  for  and  wooed  the  person,  upon 
whom  you  yourself  lavish  every  epithet  of  loveliness,  and  who 
you  say  is  altogether  unspeakably  dear  to  you,  at  once  and  at 
first,  you  would  have  called  me  hlind,  not  prudent;  for  not  to 
detect  goodness  is  the  quickest  detection  of  badness;  and  if  any- 
thing helps  me  to  throw  off  the  depressive  sense  of  unworthiness, 
and  dread  of  future  inability  to  be  to  Susan  all  that  I  ought  to  be 
— it  is  the  encouragement  I  take  from  the  fact  that  the  first  hour 
I  saw  her  I  said  to  myself — "here  is  your  wife,  if  you  can  obtain 
her."  I  am  vain  of  the  rashness  with  which  I  saw  through  her 
whole  nature,  and  hope  that  it  argues  both  a  love  of  the  good 
and  a  power  to  cherish  and  imitate  it. 

All  this  is  very  transcendental,  you  say.  Let  us  come  to  the 
practical.  But  when  happiness — not  luxury — is  the  topic, — 
the  transcendental  is  the  only  real.  Happiness  in  life  does  not 
consist  in  the  food  we  eat  and  clothes  we  wear,  but  in  the  tran- 
scendental state  of  the  soul  within,  sitting  and  regarding  the 
world  without  with  satisfaction  and  joy,  be  that  outward  world 
of  eating  and  drinking  what  it  may.  It  is  said  that  one  cannot 
live  upon  love:  certainly  the  body  cannot,  but  the  soul  must;, 
and  happiness  is  not  of  the  body,  but  of  the  soul;  and  all  the 
world  knows  (for  all  the  world  is  poor)  that  the  lack  of  the  out- 
ward is  no  certain  bar  against  a  plenty  of  true  inward  life  and 
joy.  I  expect  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  this  life,  but  I  am  alto- 
gether unwilling  to  anticipate  it;  and  I  should  be  a  fool  to  wish 
to  meet  it  badly  assorted,  rather  than  mated  with  an  angel.  Come 
it  will  —  sorrow  is  as  sure  as  sun -rising;  it  matters  very  little 
by  what  particular  channel  it  shall  come, — but  everything,  in 
what  frame  and  with  what  support  we  meet  it  as  it  comes.     If 


I  go  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

Susan  loves  me  in  any  proportion  to  my  love  for  her,  we  shall 
meet  the  inevitable  ills  of  life  (and  they  will  be  very  numerous) 
twice  as  bravely  as  we  would  if  alone.  I  have  tried  the  outward 
hardships  of  life  and  despise  them,  and  so  can  any  true-minded 
person  learn  to  do,  in  a  very  little  time.  But  I  have  had  heart 
sorrow  and  had  to  bear  it  alone.  The  enemy  got  within  the 
outworks,  and  I  had  none  to  help  me  fight  it  out. 

I  am  poor,  and  so  is  Susan,  and  we  will  probably  always  con- 
tinue so.  But  while  we  are  good  and  faithful  and  affectionate 
and  dutiful,  a  piece  of  dry  toast  and  meat  once  a  week  will  be  no 
hardship,  I  very  well  know.  And  when  we  cease  to  be  that,  we 
will  be  unhappy  with  a  fortune  in  a  palace.  But  poverty,  truly 
so  called,  is  not  likely  to  be  our  lot  in  this  country.  It  is  true 
my  wealth  lies  not  in  railroad  shares,  but  in  thoughts.  I  would 
like  to  know  which  God  guarantees  best  and  oftenest.  My 
situation  is  not  certainly  permanent.  Neither  is  that  occupied 
by  any  living  being  from  Louis  Philippe  to  John  Carroll.  I  do 
not  put  a  nominal  or  even  a  mystical  faith  in  Providence;  but  I 
do  believe  my  Master's  promise  "that  the  morrow  shall  be  made 
to  take  care  for  its  own  things."  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
future.  My  whole  duty  is  due  to  the  present,  and  I  shall  strain 
every  nerve  in  the  present  to  deserve  God's  blessing  in  the  future. 
If  I  fail,  I  fail.  If  Susan  suffers — she  may  also,  if  married  to 
a  millionaire.  Neither  she  nor  I  has  the  gift  or  the  right  of  proph- 
ecy. These  are  my  principles  of  life;  applied  indeed  at  the  spur 
of  the  moment  to  the  event,  but  adopted  and  settled  years  ago. 
I  did  not  "assume  therefore  this  responsibility  with  too  little  re- 
flection," but  I  acted  in  view  of  conclusions  to  which  the  most 
earnest  reflection  upon  life  for  years  had  led  me.  Had  I  not 
settled  by  reflection  all  these  things  before,  I  never  could  have 
acted  with  the  happy  "rashness"  which  has  so  astonished  my 
friends.  I  should  have  hesitated  and  reasoned  upon  the  pru- 
dence of  loving  beauty,  goodness  and  affectionateness — upon  the 
risks  of  poverty, — and  bliss, — and  walked  round  the  guinea  until 
some  one  else  had  picked  it  up. 

"But,"  you  say,  "all  this  regards  yourself,  not  Susan.  You 
argue  egoistically."  That  dear  friend,  she  must  herself  decide. 
If  she  argue  in  the  same  way,  and  can  justify  her  "rashness" 
by  similar  "reflection,"  then  you  see  how  strongly  we  stand  for 
and  to  and  in  each  other.  But  if  she  argues  otherwise,  then  I 
shaU  change  and  argue  with  her,  for  my  whole  reasoning  depends 
upon  her  agreement.  If  she  can  endure  all  things  for  my  sake — ■ 
not  otherwise — then  will  our  imprudent  union  be  a  prudent  one, 


1848  ENGAGEMENT  191 

and  in  the  very  midst  of  apparent  troubles  our  happiness  will  be 
constant  and  real.  But  if  she  cannot,  then  indeed  I  have  done 
wrong  to  lead  her,  as  I  have  done,  to  promise  me  happiness. — 
I  will  lose,  give  up  every  hope  for  the  future,  rather  than  cause 
her  an  hour  of  pain.  .  .  . 

But  ask  her  the  question,  which  she  prefers :  to  live  ten  years 
with  me,  or  twenty  with  some  one  else.  If  you  asked  me — I 
could  answer  for  myself  with  greater  odds  than  that. 

But  I  repeat  it,  her  union  with  me  is  not  necessarily  impru- 
dent: it  risks  neither  her  health  nor  comfort.  On  the  contrary, 
the  quiet  regular  Hfe  she  will  then  lead,  will  go  far  to  re-establish 
her  constitution;  and  if  we  be  poor,  we  shall  have  the  benefits 
of  Temperance.  If  she  were  a  rich  man's  wife,  all  the  world 
knows  her  health  would  stand  less  chance  than  as  it  is.  In  fact 
we  have  no  data  worthy  of  confidence  upon  which  in  any  given 
case  to  predict  the  future,  and  therefore,  as  I  said,  we  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it,  but  to  expect  it  with  hope  and  faith,  and  meet  it 
with  courage  and  a  cheerful  piety. 

You  say  dear  Susan  is  deficient  in  some  things,  not  only  in 
physical  strength,  but  in  prudence.  I  might  answer  that  no  one 
is  perfect,  and  I  am  content  to  give  a  less  for  a  greater.  But  is 
she  not  a  reasonable  being,  and  growing  in  wisdom  every  year? 
She  may  not  be  much  of  a  Yankee  in  buying  and  selling,  giving 
away  and  making  both  ends  meet;  but  that  will  only  result 
in  our  being  a  little  poorer;  it  is  merely  a  sort  of  discount  upon 
the  prize  drawn.  Suppose  our  income  be  looo  dollars  a  year 
(you  wish  me  to  be  practical),  and  Susan  is  so  silly  as  to  pay  a 
cent  a  yard  too  much  for  calico,  or  give  two  dollars  to  a  poor 
woman  when  she  ought  to  give  but  one,  and  so  we  have  in  the  end 
to  live  on  900.  Where  is  the  odds,  in  the  long  run  ?  How  miser- 
able to  be  sure  that  will  make  us! — On  the  contrary  every  loss 
made  or  suffered,  every  mistake  committed  will  teach  us  both, 
and  turn  out  gain  in  some  way  or  other.  Such  things  don't  last 
forever,  and  never  give  pain  when  husband  and  wife  continue  to 
be  lovers.  I  never  saw  a  person  with  ordinary  capacity  who  did 
not  become  prudent  after  marriage,  in  all  things  wherein  prudence 
was  desirable.     In  some  things  it  is  not  desirable. 

You  speak  of  my  frail  health.  The  expression  took  me  by 
surprise.  A  man's  health  must  be  judged  of  by  the  amount  of 
labor  he  can  perform.  There  is  no  other  standard.  I  leave  the 
application  of  the  test  to  any  who  have  had  an  opportunity  of 
estimating  the  amount  of  work  I  have  performed  the  last  five 
years.     My  constitution  is  of  iron.     I  am  never  sick  of  acute 


192  LIFE   AND   LETTERS  chap.  X 

diseases.  .  .  .  My  pains  were  due  to  unnatural  modes  of  living 
and  over-exertion,  and  no  constitution  but  such  a  one  as  mine 
could  have  endured  them,  and  they  are  so  rapidly  diminishing 
that  I  am  fast  rene vising  my  youth.  I  am  both  able  and  v^^illing 
to  work  to  the  end  of  life,  with  a  prospect  of  its  being  sufficiently 
long. 

It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  "obedience  to  God's  natural 
laws"  in  commencing  married  life,  to  consist  in  dependence  upon 
deposits  in  banks  or  mortgages  of  land.  On  the  contrary  no  man 
or  woman  ought  to  require  "better  provision  for  future  comfort 
and  independence"  than  just  that  ability  and  willingness  to 
earn  daily  bread,  which  as  you  truly  say,  "any  accident  or  illness 
may  deprive  them  of."  But  accident  and  illness  are  natural  con- 
tingencies, to  be  only  so  far  regarded  as  to  keep  alive  a  conviction 
of  our  dependence  upon  our  Father  in  Heaven.  It  comes  of  the 
unnatural  state  of  our  social  life  that  we  consider  it  needful  to 
begin  married  life  with  a  provision  of  wealth  held  in  reserve. 

I  do  indeed  feel  the  force  of  your  arguments,  and  tremble  at 
the  shaking  of  a  leaf  in  the  future  against  the  happiness  of  the 
one  who  is  now  dearer  to  me  than  life  and  all  things,  and  there- 
fore I  dare  not  take  the  responsibility  of  dragging  her  after  me  in 
my  destiny.  If  God  has  given  her  the  heart  to  rise  and  follow 
me, — I  shall  do  all  in  human  power  to  reward  her  for  it;  none  can 
ever  love  her  more  tenderly,  none  can  be  more  self-denying  and 
patient  and  diligent  than  I  will  be;  and  then  the  name  of  our 
dwelling  must  be  simply — Jehovah  Jireh.  I  can  do — I  can  say 
no  more.     Tell  her  this. 

Your  Friend,  J.  p.  l. 

No  untoward  external  conditions  could  make  a  marriage 
entered  into  by  both  parties  in  the  spirit  of  that  letter  im- 
prudent. 

From  this  time  on  my  father  and  mother  wrote  daily  to 
each  other  whenever  apart,  so  that  this  series  of  letters  forms 
the  best  record  of  their  lives. 

The  letters  are  too  intimate  to  be  quoted  from  largely, 
but  I  shall  extract  one  here  and  there  in  the  hope  of 
giving  the  reader  some  sense  of  the  entire  oneness  of  thought 
and  purpose  which  characterized  the  union  of  these  two 
from  the  moment  of  their  betrothal  through  all  the  long  years 
of  their  life  together. 


1848  ENGAGEMENT  193 

Milton,  Oct.  7,  8.    Peter  Lesley  to  Susan  I.  Lyman. 

[After  a  page  of  geological  physical  facts,  etc.]  I  do  not 
know  whether — or  how  much,  you  are  interested,  dear  Susan, 
in  such  physical  conceptions,  but  trust  you  will  be,  for  they 
give  my  soul  its  life.  I  have  the  profoundest  reverence  for 
Facts;  for  in  them,  bald  and  material  and  mechanical  as  they 
are,  I  see  eternal  truths;  for  every  fact  is  the  incarnation  or  in- 
humation of  a  divine  idea,  the  product  of  infinitely  complicated, 
extended  and  outstretching  agencies,  informed  of  God.  It  is  no 
light  question,  then,  why  the  whorls  of  a  sea  shell  turn  to  the 
left  and  not  to  the  right,  or  vice  versa;  the  infinite  and  the  eternal 
are  elements  of  the  problem.  But  when  I  pass  from  the  mere 
stationary  Fact  to  the  advancing  Process,  and  examine  not  the 
Ens  but  the  Fiens,  not  the  Become  but  the  Becoming, — stand  on 
one  side  to  see  the  Creator  Creating — I  feel  a  divine  happiness, — ■ 
and  this  you  must  enjoy  with  me.  .  .  . 

Oct.  14,  1848.    Peter  Lesley  to  Susan  I.  Lyman. 

.  .  .  You  may  tell  your  Mother  that  I  have  solved  our  riddle, 
the  sentence  of  Emerson.  It  stands  at  the  head  of  his  essay  on 
Love,  and  the  whole  essay  is  its  interpretation.  "Every  soul  is  a 
celestial  Venus  to  every  other  soul."  I  know  not  what  sadness 
there  is  exhaling  from  the  beauty  of  that  Essay;  but  reading  it 
seemed  to  me  like  smelling  of  Poppies,  and  the  keen  life  with 
which  my  heart  (all  instinct  with  your  love)  comprehended  and 
took  measures  of  its  universal  truth,  at  first,  gave  place  to  a  sleep, 
as  I  approached  the  end,  which  was  like  nothing  so  much  as  the 
Absorption,  of  the  Hindu  Philosophy,  in  the  Infinite.  I  mean 
that  I  felt  the  reality,  personality,  I  may  say  perhaps,  the  materi- 
ality of  my  Love,  dissolving  like  a  white  nimbus  in  the  far  heights 
of  heaven,  and  I  mourned  for  it  and  thought  it  poorly  replaced  by 
the  spotless  blue,  however  infinite  and  bright,  of  a  universal  philan- 
thropy. The  idea  of  this  wonderful  man,  for  I  must  call  him  so, 
is  this.  The  spirit  of  man  is  susceptible  of  infinite  and  eternal 
dilation.  It  is  in  the  end  to  stand  in  relations  of  perfect  harmony 
with  all  parts  and  members  of  the  Universe, — relations  of  love 
and  well  being.  This  dilation  must  commence.  The  end  is  Phi- 
lanthropy; the  beginning  is  Love.  The  means  perishes  in  attain- 
ing the  end.  Love  is  human  and  mortal,  and  is  made  to  disappear 
into  the  eternal,  which  is  Philanthropy.  The  love  of  one  to  one 
can  exist  but  for  a  time,  as  a  foretaste  and  discipline  of  the  love 
of  one  to  all,  and  all  to  all.  We  meet  with  our  first  Venus  in  order 
only  to  know  that  every  soul  shall  also  be  a  Venus  to  us.     The 


194  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

first  is  an  earthly  idol;  the  others  are  divinities,  "celestial  Venuses." 
"Thus  even  love,  which  is  the  deification  of  persons,"  says  he, 
"must  become  more  impersonal  every  day."  I  thanked  him  for 
his  next  sentence:  But  "of  this  at  first  it  gives  no  hint."  No; 
nor  do  I,  for  one,  wish  to  anticipate  this  seer's  knowledge.  I 
have  read  his  essay  again  and  again,  and  find  something  in  it 
superior  to  all  writing.  It  is  a  wonder.  It  becomes  more  dis- 
tinct as  I  read  it,  and  brighter,  like  a  far  off  Cometic  star  approach- 
ing. But  it  is,  as  I  said,  sad  to  see  one's  white  home  glittering 
from  the  far  end  of  a  prairie,  when  one  is  still  a  whole  day's 
journey  off.  I  feel  strong  and  young  when  I  think  of  you  as  my 
own,  and  of  my  own  life  and  soul  as  yours,  and  believing  in  a 
union  which  shall  never  grow  old  or  pass  away.  But  I  feel  as 
if  an  angel  touched  me,  and  my  thigh  had  shrunk,  and  I  must 
go  halting  all  my  days,  when  I  read:  "But  the  lot  of  humanity 
is  on  these  children.  Danger,  sorrow  and  pain  arrive  to  them,  as 
to  all.  Love  prays.  It  makes  Covenants  with  Eternal  Power 
in  behalf  of  this  dear  mate."  But  "the  union  thus  effected  .  .  . 
is  yet  a  temporary  state.  Not  always  can  flowers,  pearls,  poetry, 
protestations,  nor  even  home  in  another  heart,  content  the  awful 
soul  that  dwells  in  clay."  But  he  gives  me  back  my  strength  in 
that  admirable  sentence:  "Meanwhile  as  life  wears  on,  it  proves 
a  game  of  permutation  and  combination  of  all  possible  positions 
of  the  parties,  to  extort  all  the  resources  of  each  and  acquaint 
each  with  the  whole  strength  and  weakness  of  the  other.  For  it  is 
the  nature  and  end  of  this  relation,  that  they  should  represent 
the  human  race  to  each  other."  .  .  . 

Have  you  read  any  of  the  poems  of  my  friend  W.  W.  Lord? 
I  left  you  the  volume,  that  you  might  study  in  particular  his 
"Sky,"  and  "Ode  to  Niagara."  His  "Sonnet  to  a  Great  Man" 
is  very  fine.  You  would  charge  me  with  extravagance  were  I 
to  tell  you  all  that  I  think  of  them  as  poems.  He  has  more  of 
the  strength  and  majesty  of  Milton  than  any  man,  I  think,  since 
Milton  wrote.  But  as  I  feel  all  his  lines  through  and  through,  it 
is  not  fair  to  trust  his  fame  to  your  cold  and  critical  eye;  it  should 
come  to  you  first  through  the  affectionate  ear.  I  want  to  read 
them  to  you  some  day.  .  .  . 

My  mother  wrote  in  response: — 

I  delight  in  your  explanation  of  Emerson's  celestial  Venus — I 
heard  that,  when  it  was  fresh  from  his  soul,  when  he  delivered  it 
as  a  lecture  a  long  time  ago  in  Boston.    I  can  never  read  it  now 


1848  ENGAGEMENT  195 

without  recalling  his  voice,  accent,  gesture,  the  most  inspired  I 
have  ever  listened  to. 


My  father  was  already  at  odds  with  the  organized  re- 
ligious associations  of  the  Orthodox  Church,  and  his  chosen 
occupation  as  a  pastor  under  such  an  organization  was 
hanging  in  the  balance.  In  a  letter  of  October  18  to  my 
mother  he  writes  as  follows  of  his  intended  action: — 

Let  me  tell  you  what  I  am  doing,  because  it  is  for  your  in- 
terest, a  thing  no  human  power  could  bring  me  to.     I  have  glo- 
ried in  the  steadiness  with  which  I  have  stood  firm  to  my  opinions 
in  the  face  of  all  earthly  interests,  and  have  thanked  my  Lord 
for  causing  me  to  prosper  when  every  one  predicted  the  ruin  of 
all  my  prospects  for  life.     I  determined  to  go  on  as  I  had  begun, 
and  not  only  yield  to  no  man  for  an  instant,  but  to  wait  the  oppor- 
tunity, and  then,  in  full  preparation  some  years  hence  come  for- 
ward as  successful  in  the  offensive  as  I  have  stood  firm  in  the 
defensive.     I  have  told  this  to  no  one.     This  however  was  my 
view  of  the  future.     I  had  devoted  it  to  the  public  discussion  of 
certain  great   questions,   and  intended  to  present  myself  in  a 
proper  time  as  a  prepared  leader  in  a  movement  which  is  in- 
evitable in  our  scientific  and  religious  world — a  movement  from 
error  towards  truth,   one  already  begun.     But  your  happiness 
forbids  me  to  take  the  part  I  would  have  done  had  I  remained 
a  solitary  being  in  the  world,  unmated  and  unblessed.     My  first 
step  I  took  the  other  day  by  dining  with  Mr.  Blagdon.     This 
morning  I  go  to  see  my  friends  in  Charlestown  and  East  Boston, 
to  signify  to  them  my  willingness  now  to  enter  their  association  * 
vrith  as  little  friction  from  my  personal  opinions  as  possible,  and 
thus  to  prepare  the  way  for  a  speedy  settlement  of  my  position. 
I  shall  lose  something  thus  in  inward  strength,  but  I  will  make 
your  way  more  easy,  for  your  friends  are  anxious  for  you,  be- 
cause as  they  say  my  position  at  Milton  is  insecure, — not  know- 
ing, as  I  do,  and  your  Uncle  James    [Robbins]  and  some  few 
others,  that  my  security  (if  there  is  such  a  thing  in  this  life,  in 
man's  sense  of  the  term)  at  Milton  depends  so  entirely  on  the 
personal  good  understanding,  confidence  and  love,  between  the 
people  and  myself,  that  license  and  ordination  will  lessen  instead 
of  increasing  it.    When  a  man  has  tried  and  fomid  that  he  can 

*  Suffolk  North  Association  (of  Congregational  ministers) . 


196  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

stand  alone,  he  is  a  thousand  times  stronger  than  when  connected 
with  even  the  most  powerful  organization.  But,  nevertheless,  I 
am  not  only  willing,  but  have  already  begun  to  sacrifice  my  views 
and  prejudices  to  smooth  your  way,  my  future  blessed  wife.  .  .  . 

A  letter  of  October  20  to  Susan  is  full  of  his  joy  in  the 
congratulations  of  friends  in  Boston  and  Milton,  now  that 
the  engagement  of  the  young  couple  was  made  known. 
These  were  most  of  them  dear  friends  and  relations  of  hie 
wife-to-be. 

With  your  Wednesday  morning  letter  came  two  to  me  from 
Trumbull  at  Valparaiso,  a  man  whom  I  loved  with  great  devo- 
tion at  Princeton  and  afterwards,  and  still.  But  I  have  not  seen 
him  now  these  three  or  four  years,  and  letters  are  four  months  in 
transit  to  and  fro.  He  .  .  .  says  by  a  mere  accident  as  you 
may  see,  this  "If  you  have  a  wife,  tell  her  I  love  her  for  your  sake." 
Of  course  this  message  is  for  you.  Have  you  room  for  another 
friend  ?  He  is  a  man  of  simplicity  and  zeal,  of  great  truthfulness 
and  with  what  /  greatly  want,  the  practical  talent,  in  excess.  He 
can  accomplish  anything,  is  always  ready,  and  has  just  enough 
irritability  of  temper  to  flavor  the  natural  and  consistent  sweet- 
ness of  his  affections,  and  make  him  refuse  to  be  imposed  upon 
or  to  see  it  tried  upon  others. 

Saturday  Noon,  21. 

...  By  the  way  Hillard  has  brought  back  with  him  Men- 
delssohn's grand  prayer,  "O  rest  in  the  Lord,"  in  the  "Elijah." 
Madame  [Mrs.  Hillard]  will  take  it  with  her  to  New  York,  for  you 
to  see. 

I  am  receiving  congratulations  from  all  sides.  The  people 
seem  overjoyed.  On  Milton  Hill,  too,  they  tell  me  there  is  quite 
a  buzz.  .  .  .  Bennett  Forbes  shook  me  cordially  by  the  hand 
as  I  issued  from  the  Boston  post-ofl&ce.  .  .  . 

My  mother  on  her  side  writes  of  the  friends  in  New  York, — 
John  Hopper  and  his  young  wife,  Lizzie  Gay,  Lydia  Maria 
Child,  and  others,  of  whom  she  was  very  fond, — and  begs  him 
to  meet  her  dear  friends,  the  Hales,  in  Boston,  especially 
that  Lucretia  who,  with  Margaret  White,  was  the  friend 
nearest  her  heart. 

My  mother  had  written  him  of  some  of  the  work  in  New 


1848  ENGAGEMENT  197 

York  slums  to  which   her  friend  John  Hopper  had  intro- 
duced licr,  and  in  which  she  was  deeply  interested. 

Mn-TON,  October  28. 

.  .  .  That  reminds  me,  .  .  .  what  will  you  do  in  this  dull 
town,  where  you  will  have  no  ragged  school  to  teach,  no  Five 
Points  to  visit,  no  poor  to  take  care  of.  I  fondly  trust  you  will 
not  let  your  zeal  and  piety  decay  in  your  new  life,  but  how  you 
can  provide  them  with  food  I  do  not  yet  clearly  see. 

I  sometimes  rise  from  my  books  and  shake  my  mane  like  a 
lion  with  a  rage  at  my  own  sloth  and  the  intellectual  idleness  of 
my  present  life,  when  I  remember  how  I  spent  days  and  nights 
in  the  woods,  and  climbed  the  mountains  on  foot,  with  my  knap- 
sack and  through  the  snow,  to  reach  the  houses  of  the  vicious 
and  the  destitute, — or  when  I  read  of  the  destitution  and  sin  of 
the  poor  wretches  crowded  in  the  cities  of  Europe  and  of  our  own 
Coast;  but  I  rise  only  to  lie  down  again.  It  is  but  one  inter- 
minable Schwatzerei — a  perennial  Babble  about  Virtue.  I  feel 
as  if  my  hands  and  feet  were  tied,  and  I  long  to  break  from  the 
happiness  of  these  easy  places  and  times,  and  die  with  the  Bible 
and  staff  in  my  hands,  and  show  that  "faith  worketh,  by  love," 
that  the  Christian  is  a  minister  of  mercy  while  on  earth,  that 
"the  love  of  Christ  not  only  restrains,  but  constrains  us,"  that 
when  we  talk  of  bearing  a  cross  it  is  no  figure  of  rhetoric,  but  a 
reality.  I  feel  mean  to  be  happy  while  millions  are  miserable. 
My  philosophy  of  cause  and  efifect,  compensation,  world  prog- 
ress, laissez-faire,  has  no  force,  my  Calvinism  does  not  relieve 
me.  I  pant  to  be  engaged  with  other  devoted  men  in  doing 
something  to  save  mankind;  and  I  care  not  who  the  men  are, 
by  what  names  they  are  called  or  in  what  repute  the  world  holds 
them,  if  they  only  follow  Christ  and  save  mankind.  But  I  live 
in  such  an  unpractical  world  of  ideas.  I  hope  much,  my  love, 
from  contact  with  your  younger  but  more  perfect  experience  in 
the  art  of  doing  good.     All  my  science  does  not  help  me  here.  .  .  . 

November  8th. 

.  .  .  You  will  be  surprised,  Susie,  to  see  how  much,  how  closely 
our  views  will  often  coincide.  On  the  question  of  the  Com- 
munion I  have  for  years  been  what  is  called  a  Zwinglian  Protes- 
tant, and  many  a  loving  conflict  I  have  had  with  my  good  Bom- 
berger  and  Harbaugh,  who  follow  Nevins  and  Schaff  and  Dwight 
and  Owen  and  Calvin  in  ascribing  to  the  Sacraments  some  mys- 


198  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

terious  opus-operatum  power  by  virtue  of  which  the  spirit  is 
strengthened  by  the  flesh.  I  have  been  rapt  into  heaven  at  the 
Communion,  but  not  by  any  emanation  from  the  elements,  but 
by  the  perfection  of  that  ''remembrance"  of  my  Lord  and  Re- 
deemer, which  he  secured,  in  visible  form  we  may  say,  by  the 
ordinance  of  the  supper,  to  his  latest  disciples.  How  it  enters 
into  the  ground  law  of  the  invisible  made  visible,  the  embodiment 
of  ideas  in  forms  and  things, — how  it  is  a  necessity  of  the  church — 
we  will  discuss  that  some  quiet  hour,  and  then  you  will  feel  how 
at  one  we  are  in  this  part  of  truth.  .  .  . 

Holiness  comes  like  light  by  influx,  not  by  eating.  The  bread 
and  wine  and  assembly  and  silence  and  prayers,  and  what  not, 
only  form  the  glass  through  which  we  see  with  clearness  the  Christ 
and  his  twelve,  the  bread  and  wine,  the  lifted  hand  and  divine 
face,  looking  down  the  table — yes,  eighteen  centuries, — to  catch 
our  eye,  and  bless  us  with  a  smile  of  benediction.  .  .  .  While 
others  are  settling  their  faces  into  grief,  and  calling  up  sad  thoughts, 
and  uttering  lugubrious  sentences,  and  singing  psalms  most 
mournfully  selected,  as  appropriate  to  the  occasion, — I  always 
feel  like  taking  down  some  seraph's  harp  and  improvising  to  the 
overflowings  of  my  joy  all  happy  words,  congratulations,  anthems 
and  benedictions,  and  I  cannot  repress  my  feelings,  so  that  they 
sometimes  threaten  to  break  out  as  glee — for  has  not  Christ  been 
born  and  died  and  risen  again,  to  save  mankind  and  make  us 
Kings  and  priests  to  God?  .  .  . 

In  November  my  father  went  to  Northampton  to  visit 
his  betrothed,  and  spent  a  fortnight  there,  becoming  attached 
to  several  of  her  friends  there,  among  others  their  much- 
beloved  pastor,  Rufus  Ellis. 

After  his  return  to  Milton  the  daily  letters  begin  again: — 

November  2ph  (?). 

.  .  .  Wendell  Phillips  will  be  of  service  to  me  in  the  matter 
of  lectures,  both  by  his  experience  and  extensive  acquaintance. 
I  shall  see  him  soon.  Everything  inspires  me  with  confidence 
for  our  future.  .  .  , 

November  2 ph. 

.  .  .  Rogers  has  sent  me  an  affectionate  letter  from  London, 
full  of  congratulation.  I  shall  mail  it  to  you  in  a  few  days.  You 
will  smile  to  find  that  his  first  intimation  of  my  ecclesiastical 


1848  ENGAGEMENT  199 

matters  came  through  Charles  Lyell.  He  is  quite  mistaken. 
Who  told  Lyell  I  cannot  imagine,  unless  it  might  be  Sumner  or 
G.  Ticknor,  and  none  of  them  knows  anything  about  it.  Besides 
Rogers  knew  all  that  was  to  be  known,  last  spring. 

I  dined  with  Wendell  Phillips  and  afterwards  borrowed  some 
books  from  Theodore  Parker,  and  intend  to  set  earnestly  to  work 
at  my  essay  on  Friar  Bacon,  and  some  lecture  or  other. 

November  2gth. 

...  I  was  amused  yesterday  with  a  sentence  in  the  life  of  Simon 
Ockley,  the  Orientalist  and  learned  author  of  the  history  of  the 
Saracens,  to  this  effect:  "If  the  letters  of  the  widows  or  orphans 
of  many  of  our  eminent  authors  were  collected,  they  would  dem- 
onstrate the  great  fact,  that  the  man  who  is  a  husband  and  a 
father  ought  not  to  be  an  author.  They  might  weary  with  a 
monotonous  cry,  and  usually  would  be  dated  from  the  gaol  or 
the  garret."  Do  you  not  tremble,  love?  What  will  you  do  when 
I  am  in  Charlestown  penitentiary ;  and  how  will  we  stow  away  our 
children  under  the  eaves  of  our  garret?  Ockley  lived  under 
William  and  Mary  and  George  the  Third,  and  in  England. 
Thank  God,  we  live  under  James  K.  Polk  (political),  Saint  and 
Martyr,  of  blessed  memory, — and  in  New  England. 

Friday  morning. 

.  .  .  What  a  happy  day  I  passed  yesterday,  Susie!  I  was  like 
a  Chamois  in  the  Upper  Alps  all  day  long.  I  found  that  I  could 
stir  the  hearts  of  my  friends  too,  by  descending  like  the  angel  at 
Bethesda  among  them — ^pardon  the  unworthy  comparison.  I 
wanted  to  copy  you  a  charming  epitaph  from  Haydn's  Die.  of 
Dates,  but  shall  reserve  it  for  my  next  letter.  I  send  a  fine  head 
of  Aristotle  for  you  to  admire;  you  will  observe  the  enormous 
disproportion  between  the  head  in  front  of  and  the  head  back 
of  the  ear;  as  well  as  the  finely  developed  chin,  perhaps  the 
surest  mark  of  genius.  The  hemisphere  is  not  high,  above  the 
eyes,  although  the  brow  rises  finely.  It  is  from  a  statue  in  the 
Spada  Palace.  .  .  . 

December  ist. 

...  By  the  way,  you  ask  me  for  my  Thanksgiving  sermon. 
I  wish  I  had  it  to  send  you,  but  you  must  ask  the  walls  and  pews 
for  it,  it  came  and  went  like  the  wind:  It  shook  the  Cave  and 
bent  the  trees,  but  left  no  trace  visible.  They  said  they  felt  its 
influence;  but  there  is  no  knowing.     I  told  them  how  happily  the 


200  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

day  opened  upon  me  and  within  me.  How  it  was  one  of  many  im- 
pulse days  in  the  year,  but  next  to  Christmas  the  most  beautiful 
of  them  all.  How  it  differed  in  its  catholic  and  loving  spirit,  from 
the  narrow,  national,  or  Stirpal,  selfish  Jewish  and  Heathen  days 
of  thanksgiving  for  a  victory  over  enemies.  I  led  them  through 
a  series  of  thankful  retrospects;  showing  how  we  should  be  thank- 
ful for  Life,  not  that  of  stones,  trees,  brute  beasts,  but  immortal, 
angelic  powers, — for  Life  under  the  most  favorable  physical 
conditions  of  development  in  the  temperate  zone,  in  the  New  World, 
in  the  19th  Century,  in  peace  and  plenty, — then  for  Life  raised 
to  the  summit  of  spiritual  prosperity,  in  an  age  of  unshackled 
learning,  of  religious  freedom,  of  reform  and  universal  philan- 
thropy and  a  purer  Christianity,  .  .  .  and  then  showed  them  how 
in  the  Christian  thanksgiving  day,  they  must  rejoice  for  all 
mankind,  in  all  that  is  good  for  the  redemption  of  the  race.  .  .  . 

December  6th. 

...  I  heard  Emerson  lecture  last  night.  He  analyzed  the  life, 
times  and  nature  of  Plato,  saying  that  in  him  a  symmetrical, 
synthetical  intellect  was  born,  with  European  habits  and  oriental 
tastes;  able  to  graft  upon  the  Culture  of  the  West  the  idealism 
and  unityism  of  the  East;  able  to  perceive  and  adore  the  incom- 
prehensible oneness  into  which  all  thought  solves  all  things,  and 
also  to  work  back  into  the  abundant  detail  of  life  and  definition 
all  its  phenomena.  He  called  him  no  Greek,  no  European,  no 
Asiatic,  but  a  whole  man;  a  quotation  from  humanity,  hence  a 
type  man  and  a  moderner.  Hence  all  his  sayings  seem  natural 
and  even  commonplace  in  aU  ages,  and  enter  into  the  feeling  and 
philosophy  of  every  wise  one. 

James  F.  Clarke  said  at  the  breakfast  table  this  morning,  that 
it  was  very  uncomfortable  and  depressing  to  hear  such  a  lecture, 
and  asked  why.  [One  can  see  the  half-whimsical  smile  with 
virhich  he  would  say  this!]  I  told  him  I  thought  it  was  partly 
because  all  history  is  unsatisfactory.  If  we  could  read  it  from 
a  bright  point  at  its  beginning  and  trace  it  thenceforward  with 
clearness  to  the  present  day,  widening  its  body  and  perfecting  its 
spirit,  and  comprehend  every  phenomenon,  such  as  a  Plato  or 
a  Napoleon,  in  its  action  and  consequences,  count  the  paroxysmal 
earthquakes  of  mind,  and  see  how  they  have  shaken  together 
humanity  more  solid,  like  a  phial  shaken  as  it  fills  with  sand, — 
we  would  be  joyful  in  reading,  patient  in  waiting,  and  hopeful 
for  the  end.  But  it  is  very  different.  History  is  unreadable. 
Plates  exist  here  and  there,  and  we  neither  know  why  they  came 


1848  ENGAGEMENT  201 

nor  what  they  did.  And  all  the  light  that  Emersons  can  cast 
on  the  Platos  of  the  past,  only  increases  the  darkness  before  and 
behind  them,  and  makes  us  despair,  after  a  few  moments,  of 
ever  learning  their  origin  or  object. 

But  there  is  another  reason.  We  see  Plato  thus  nicely  dis- 
sected, and  despise  him.  We  are  taught  to  understand  him,  and 
so  the  luxury  of  veneration  is  taken  away  from  us.  And  we  can't 
bear  a  man  who  comprehends  Plato,  and  whom  yet  we  can  com- 
prehend in  his  turn.  It  leaves  us  nothing  more  on  earth  to  won- 
der at.  It  shows  us  how  little  there  is  of  gold  in  the  best  specimen 
of  the  ore  of  humanity. 

Do  I  afflict  you  .  .  .  with  essays?  I  write,  as  you  see,  just 
what  comes  first.     As  the  day  is,  so  is  my  letter.  .  .  . 

And  my  father  had  as  little  regard  for  "consistency" 
as  Emerson  himself.  He  could  be  optimistic  on  one  page 
and  pessimistic  on  the  next,  and  feel  no  need  to  justify  the 
one  view  or  the  other. 

December  i2ih. 

...  I  rode  home  from  Brush  Hill,  blacked  my  boots  and 
shaved,  and  whipped  up  for  the  depot,  in  time  for  the  cars,  seized 
your  billiette,  jumped  into  the  train  and  in  half  an  hour  (thanks 
to  steam  and  iron,  and  the  19th  century!)  was  discussing  the 
Cartesian  philosophy,  primary  scepticism,  cogito  ergo  sum,  Vorti- 
cal ethers,  the  merits  of  Aristotle  et  id  omne  genus  with  a  set  of 
wiseacres  in  Marlboro  Place  until  all  created  things  grew  blue  and 
danced  double,  and  then — I  went  to  dinner,  at  Judge  Cushing's. 
...  I  stopped  to  talk  with  Mr.  Blagdon,  and  again  took  the  train 
out,  supped  with  John  Forbes  and  discussed  the  new  gold  fever, 
the  British  National  debt,  repudiation.  Association  and  the  theory 
of  central  heat;  justice,  temperance  and  coal  mines.  Kissed  the 
children,  and  then  went  to  Mrs.  A.'s.  .  .  . 

The  most  intense  anxiety  is  felt  and  expressed  now  by  the 
people,  that  I  should  agree  with  the  Association,  on  the  26th.  If 
we  differ  again,  as  we  did  in  June,  I  shall  have  my  hands  full;  but 
in  my  determination  to  sacriiice  All  for  Truth,  and  in  my  faith  in 
your  love  for  me  in  all  and  through  all,  I  have  a  world  of  strength; 
and  "  he  that  trusteth  in  Jehovah  shall  never  be  made  ashamed.". . . 

Ttiesday  morning. 

. .  .  And  first,  as  to  my  vortical  storms,  assure  my  good  Mother 
and  aunt  that  I  scorn  their  insinuations.     My  storms  are  honest 


2o5  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

fellows  that  know  what  their  duty  is  and  do  it;  even  though  they 
have  their  fun  now  and  then,  and  go  about  it  so  as  occasionally 
to  throw  dust  in  people's  eyes. 

You  can't  see  through  a  millstone  without  looking  in  the  right 
place;  and  you  can't  circumscribe  a  vortex  of  a  thousand  miles' 
diameter  without  making  observations  at  a  thousand  points.  The 
generalization  to  which  Redfield  and  Maury  have  come  is  a  vast 
one,  based  upon  the  records  of  years,  and  observations  spread 
over  the  whole  Atlantic,  and  seaboard  states.  There  are,  as  Sam 
would  say,  vheels  vithin  vheels,  Httle  eddies  within  great  vortices; 
side  eddies,  back  currents,  side  compensations  and  what  not,  to 
be  allowed  for  and  taken  in,  before  you  get  a  true  idea  of  the 
whole.  Nature  does  nothing  perfectly,  in  detail;  but  only,  in  the 
gross.  All  is  imperfection,  exception,  disorder  when  regarded  in 
detail;  the  order  rises  from  out  the  infinite,  the  whole,  only.  Even 
the  Sun  never  rises  or  sets  at  the  same  point  twice  in  six  months. 
Exception  is  the  rule  until  you  find  the  rule;  then  the  exception 
becomes  part  of  its  proof.  The  great  weekly  vortices  produce 
sub-weekly  currents  and  eddies,  but  they  are  local  and  various, 
not  universal  and  cyclical.     Verbum  sat.! 

If  I  wished  to  be  Emersonian  I  should  say  "  Laws  are  excep- 
tional at  every  point.  Nature  despises  and  masks  herself  on  all 
sides,  but  in  the  end  is  found  out  and  must  be  herself.  Look  at 
her  long  enough,  the  very  transformations  will  reveal  the  original. 
Keep  awake  long  enough,  and  the  brazen  head  will  speak,  and 
declare  how  the  land  of  science  may  be  walled  round  with  brass. 
The  truly  patient  man  is  the  philosopher;  Nature's  patient,  whom 
she  cures  of  every  error,  after  the  expectant  method."  Chaos  is 
the  true  sages'  paradise,  there  grows  his  tree  of  knowledge  and 
of  life.  There  he  becomes  as  God.  He  creates,  he  reduces  to 
order,  he  rules  there  and  becomes  immortal  by  living  on  eternal 
truths,"  .  .  . 

My  father  always  took  great  interest  in  the  problems  of 
air  currents,  etc.  And  when,  years  later,  the  Weather 
Bureau  was  established,  he  was  a  constant  defender  of 
"Old  Prob."  from  the  captious  criticisms  of  the  less  scien- 
tific members  of  his  household. 

December  i^th. 

.  .  .  You  have  long  already  discovered  in  me  an  inconstancy  of 
feeling  which  may  trouble  you.     But  the  changes  are  so  rapid, 


ENGAGEMENT  203 

that  like  the  various  impulses  of  the  terrestrial  magnetism,  they 
practically  hold  the  needle  steady  in  the  end.  And  in  you  I  see 
what  will  be  a  full  compensation,  a  singular  and  admirable  steadi- 
ness, which  I  know  not  how  to  praise  or  love  enough.  .  .  . 

December  i^th. 

.  .  .  This  affair  of  the  Association  gives  me  no  uneasiness  and 
very  little  trouble,  for  I  attend  to  it  only  when  I  go  to  town  on 
Mondays,  and  when  I  would  not  wish  to  study.  As  to  its  future 
consequences,  I  refuse  absolutely  to  consider  them.  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them.  Nor  do  I  think  they  will  materially 
affect  my  plans  regarding  Milton,  nor  do  I  think  they  need  affect 
our  marriage  in  any  way.  .  .  . 

If  I  thought  that  I  was  not  in  practical  unity  with  these  men 
[of  the  Association]  or  the  body  that  they  represent,  I  could  not 
make  this  advance  towards  them.  In  fact,  it  is  rather  because 
the  Christian  people  whom  I  serve  here,  have  a  right  to  be  in 
Christian  fellowship  with  Christian  people  whom  these  men  serve, 
that  I  yield  to  their  request  to  be  recognized  as  a  Christian 
brother  by  the  Association.  While  I  do  so,  I  claim  my  rights  as 
a  man,  I  shall  never  cease  to  protest  against  all  falsehood,  biogtry, 
misuse  of  authority,  and  every  arrogant  claim  of  authority,  in 
the  Church  of  Christ,  and  especially  among  the  Clergy.  No  man 
shall  be  a  lord  over  God's  heritage,  if  my  voice  can  prevent  him. 
And  as  I  shall  enter  the  Association,  if  at  all,  upon  these  true 
principles,  I  shall  be  in  all  things  my  own  man  in  the  Association 
hereafter;  pledged  to  no  system  of  art  or  power;  saying  always  of 
things  and  men  what  I  think  to  be  truth,  and  prepared  at  any 
moment  to  retire  from  them  when  I  cannot  any  longer  dwell  with 
them  in  harmony.  I  shall  never  conceal  my  views,  nor  consent 
to  an  injustice.  Here  lies  the  whole  difficulty.  I  do  not  wonder 
that  they,  some  of  them,  feel  afraid  that  in  licensing  me  they  en- 
courage heresy,  and  in  receiving  me  afterwards  they  admit  a  fire- 
brand. I  understand  their  motives  and  give  them  credit  for  them; 
but  they  cannot  change  my  mode  of  action,  any  more  than  my  views 
of  truth. 

December  i8th. 

...  I  have  fortunately  found  Bunsen's  Egyptian  work  and 
must  hurry  through  it.  I  heard  Parker  lecture  on  Transcenden- 
talism last  evening.  It  was  both  good  and  bad;  clear,  but  inac- 
curate; very  suggestive,  and  on  the  whole  satisfactory.  .  .  . 


204  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

December  2isi. 

...  I  am  reading  Bunsen's  Book  with  satisfaction  and  profit; 
I  have  mastered  about  200  pages  of  it  to-day.  It  handles  my 
favorite  subject,  the  chronology  of  the  primeval  ages,  in  a  masterly 
manner.  But  at  every  third  page  I  see  your  "zwei  schwartz- 
hraunen  Auglein"  peeping  at  me  over  the  top  to  the  dismay  and 
utter  rout  of  all  sober,  antiquarian  thoughts.  .  .  . 


His  application  came  up  before  the  Suffolk  North  As- 
sociation December  26,  and  he  writes  at  once  to  Susan  to 
tell  her  the  result  of  the  meeting : — 

Boston,  December  26th. 

I  have  just  returned  from  Maiden,  .  .  .  and  am  in  no  condi- 
tion, I  am  sorry  to  say,  to  write  or  talk,  or  do  in  fact  anything  but 
go  into  oblivion,  as  indeed  it  seems  to  be  the  wish  of  more  than 
one  that  I  should.  The  whole  question  has  been  to-day  put  at 
rest.  After  three  or  four  hours'  discussion,  some  insisting  upon 
my  returning  to  the  Presbytery  of  Phil 'a,  others  proposing  to 
refer  the  matter  to  the  Association  of  Norfolk  Co.,  others  wish- 
ing to  commend  it  to  a  council  and  thus  to  forward  my  interests 
and  at  the  same  time  escape  responsibility  themselves,  it  was 
voted  to  let  the  whole  matter  drop  and  have  no  more  to  do  with 
it,  three  of  my  friends  not  voting  and  one  recording  a  negative 
vote,  to  prevent  its  being  said  that  the  resolution  was  unanimously 
adopted. 

Thus  it  is  finished.  One  poor  arm  has  no  strength  against 
ten  thousand,  for  I  contend  not  with  twenty  men,  but  through 
them  with  the  combined  associations  and  presbyteries  of  the 
United  States.  They  hang  together,  act  together,  uphold  each 
other  and  chase  a  recusant  from  one  to  another  like  a  hunted 
slave.  I  am  not  in  a  condition  to  decide  upon  anything  to-night. 
I  felt  my  impotence  there  keenly,  and  saw  the  compactness  of 
the  wall  under  which  I  had  tried  to  thrust  my  slender  crowbar, 
as  I  never  had  done  [before].  Every  sentence  uttered  was  a  time- 
honored  plea  of  tyranny  and  bigotry.  There  was  a  shameful 
personal  dispute  at  one  time,  which  disgusted  me  with  men  call- 
ing themselves  Christians.  And  those  who  saw  most  clearly 
what  was  true,  timorously  drew  back,  indeed  expressed  a  sort 
of  fright  at  the  charge  of  heresy.  I  felt  humiliated  by  my  pres- 
ence and,  as  Judge  Smith  of  New  Hampshire  said,  that  it  was 
a  very  hard  thing  to  apply  for  admission  into  bad  society  and 


1848  ENGAGEMENT  205 

be  refused.  ...  I  have  injured  my  own  internal  sense  of  strength, 
by  my  application  to  the  Association  again,  as  I  expected  to, 
but  I  have  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  I  sacrificed  my  own 
feelings  and  judgment  to  the  wishes  of  the  People,  and  having 
done  all  that  can  be  asked  of  me,  am  a  freer  man.  I  may  sit 
down  and  publish  something,  but  I  can  decide  as  yet  on  nothing. 
When  the  first  excitement  passes  away,  matters  will  move  on 
quietly  until  May  next.  By  which  time'  if  not  earlier,  they  may 
be  prepared  to  act  with  all  the  vigor  I  desire  to  see  them  exhibit 
[meaning  his  parish].  I  need  all  my  wisdom,  honesty  and  strength, 
.  .  .  and  more — which  God  grant.  As  I  have  so  often  said,  I 
once  would  scarcely  think  about  it  twice,  but  now  all  my  thoughts 
are  filled  with  speculations  how  this  and  indeed  every  event, 
great  or  trivial,  shall  affect  your  happiness.  Carrying  so  precious 
a  vase,  I  am  affrighted  by  every  little  stone  in  my  way.  I  find 
now  that  I  hoped  against  hope  that  I  could,  with  the  help  of 
friends,  amicably  adjust  the  difficulty;  and  I  would  be  tempted 
to  look  back  upon  to-day  with  a  sort  of  self-reproach  and  fear 
that  I  had  betrayed  in  wish,  if  not  in  word,  my  convictions  of  the 
truth,  did  not  the  entire  reprobation  which  I  received  from  the 
older  and  more  influential  men  convince  me  that  however  much 
I  desired  to  bridge  over  the  gulf  between  us,  I  was  not  permitted 
to  speak  as  a  hypocrite;  for  they  did  me  the  honor  to  say  that  I 
was  worse  than  ever, — ^yes,  in  the  very  earnest  and  sincere  attempts 
I  made  to  please  them. 

So  that  I  cannot  but  hope  that  the  truths  I  profess  and  for 
which  I  am  in  danger  of  losing  name  and  place  and  profession, 
have  indeed  been  formed  within  me,  and  pervade  my  nature, 
to  the  rendering  it  now  impossible  for  me  to  feign  or  pervert 
or  refuse  to  utter  them; — that  I  really  am  what  I  have  thought 
myself  to  be.  .  .  . 

To  which  Susan  replies  on  the  28th: — 

...  I  had  been  expecting  all  day  that  I  should  hear  that  such 
was  the  result  of  your  meeting  with  the  Association — I  was  there- 
fore less  disappointed  than  either  Mother  or  Aunt  Kitty,  for  1 
had  scarcely  hoped  anything  from  it.  I  have  never  believed  ir> 
your  having  much  outward  success  anyway.  From  the  moment 
that  I  first  entered  in  spirit  into  your  spirit,  to  share  its  hopes, 
fears  and  destiny,  I  saw  there  what  would  hinder  your  outward 
success,  and  that  which  was  in  singular  sympathy  with  my  own 
belief  about  my  own  destiny  before  it  was  united  to  yours.  .  .  . 


2o6  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

Might  I  say — Preach  with  great  tranquillity,  and  look  forward 
with  real  calmness  to  whatever  may  result  from  this  bad  Associa- 
tion's doings;  forgive  me — I  know  it  is  a  great  deal  harder,  now 
that  thee  carries  me  for  thy  "precious  vase";  but  do  not  be 
affrighted,  I  am  a  tough  little  vase,  made  of  that  material,  which 
will  not  be  broken,  if  you  should  trip  over  the  stones.   .    .  . 

Brush  Hn.L,  De*.  29,  1848.    Peter  Lesley  to  Susan  Lyman. 

Again  I  pray  that  it  may  be  your  happiest  year,  and  the  prelude 
to  a  long  series  of  happy  years,  in  which  our  union  shall  become 
every  day  more  entire  and  our  mutual  confidence  confirmed. 
Gradually  we  shall  invent  blessings  for  each  other,  ever  varied, 
and  always  new.  We  shall  become  master  also  of  our  com- 
bined powers  and  learn  to  employ  them  for  the  good  of  others. 

A  letter  from  his  father,  dated  December  15,  contains 
the  following  sentences: — 

It  would  rejoice  me  much  to  hear  that  you  received  licensure 
from  the  Association.  In  such  event  you  might,  when  here  preach 
in  our  pulpits — as  it  is,  you  are  shut  out  from  all. — May  I  ask, 
having  no  right  to  command,  that  you  will  not  bring  before  the 
Association  your  peculiar  notions — notions  which  have  no  prac- 
tical bearing  on  usefulness  or  happiness? — It  is  my  sincere  belief 
that  you  have,  by  bringing  them  forward,  interfered  most  seriously 
and  very  extensively  with  your  usefulness — and  certainly  with 
our  happiness. — I  may  have  prided  myself  too  much  in  your 
mental  powers  and  acquirements. — If  the  association  favors  you 
with  an  opportunity  of  admission,  do,  I  pray  you  give  them  no 
cause  for  keeping  you  out, — and  pray  to  the  great  Head  of  the 
Church  that  He  will  give  you  wisdom  for  the  occasion.  I  believe 
that  you  have  been  by  Him  called  to  the  work  of  the  Ministry, 
called  to  preach  Him  and  His  Righteousness. 

To  which  my  father  answered  December  21: — 

I  shall  say  but  little  about  my  application  for  licensure,  as 
I  will  not  mail  this  until  I  can  announce  the  result.  But  I  am 
determined  beyond  all  recalls,  to  sacrifice  home  and  friends  and 
name  and  life  itself  to  what  I  believe  to  be  the  Truth,  so  help  me 
God  and  all  good  angels!  I  have  lived  to  learn  that  the  fame  of 
the  world  is  a  folly,  and  the  comforts  of  life  are  worthless,  and 


1848  ENGAGEMENT  207 

that  nothing  but  Truth  is  worth  living  for,  or  dying  for.  Nor 
will  I  sacrifice  an  iota  for  any  earthly  consideration.  And  as 
it  is  not  given  to  me  to  know  what  points  of  truth  are  to  do  good 
and  what  are  of  no  especial  moment,  I  must  assert  all  that  I 
believe,  as  times  and  opportunities  and  occasions  demand, — • 
cum,  tamen,  omni  modestia,  et  excusatione,  as  Roger  Bacon  said, — 
"nevertheless,  with  all  modesty  and  with  all  caution."  .  .  . 

It  is  not  needful  that  I  preach  at  all  in  the  pulpits  of  Phila- 
delphia; but  it  is  very  needful  that  when  I  preach  in  my  own 
pulpit,  or  any  other,  I  preach  simply  what  I  beheve;  neither 
more  nor  less;  and  at  all  points.  And  if  I  be  excluded  from  all 
pulpits,  I  shall  go  to  cabinet-making  and  serve  God  better  there 
than  as  a  time-serving  Minister  in  a  pulpit.  I  have  neither  hopes 
nor  fears;  nor  have  I  permission  to  consult  such;  I  must  do  and 
say.  what  at  each  moment  I  believe  to  be  true  and  right;  nor  am 
I  in  any  way  held  responsible  for  the  Consequences.  But  if  I 
fall  short,  if  I  mutter  and  peep  and, speak  out  of  my  belly,  as 
the  men  of  the  times  do,  I  shall  have  a  fearful  responsibility  to 
come  upon  me.  No,  dear  Father,  do  not  weaken  my  hands; 
it  is  the  privilege  of  a  father  to  strengthen  his  son's  hands  against 
the  world  and  to  believe  in  him  also  further  than  a  hundred 
human  examinations. 

The  Association  of  Suffolk  Co.  does  not  favor  me  with  an 
opportunity  of  admission,  but  is  itself  favored  in  having  a  man 
apply  to  act  with  them,  in  whose  heart  God  has  put  an  upright 
spirit,  free  from  all  fear  and  yet  anxious  to  be  taught  even  by  a 
child.  I  have  higher  authority  and  a  diviner  power  within  me 
than  that  possessed  by  any  human  organization  however  perfect. 
No  ecclesiastical  machinery  was  ever  inspired  (though  Puseyites, 
from  Rome  to  Cherry  Street,  assert  it);  but  every  Christian  is. 
And  by  the  simplicity  of  a  Christian  inspiration,  I  have  already 
and  shall  again  confound  the  theories  of  any  assembly  of  divines 
who  cover  up  their  private  inspiration,  in  order  to  put  upon  their 
worldly  dignities  the  surplice  of  an  impossible  Verbal  inspira- 
tion. I  shall  therefore  ever  deny  the  alleged  inspiration  of  the 
written  word,  in  order  to  establish  the  inspiration  of  the  Holy 
Men  of  old  who  wrote  the  written  word,  and  of  all  in  every  age 
in  whom  likewise  dwelleth  the  Holy  Ghost.  When  Paul  says 
to  me,  what  the  Holy  Ghost  of  Christ  says  in  me,  then  will  I 
believe  him,  not  before.  When  David  curses  his  enemies  in 
plain  words,  and  Christ  bids  me  bless  mine  in  plain  words,  it 
will  take  more  than  the  scholasticism  of  Princeton  or  the  sub- 
tleties of  Cambridge  to  make  me  believe  that  he  (David)  spoke 


2o8  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  x 

just  then  by  inspiration  of  the  "one  spirit"  "that  speaketh  and 
worketh  in  all,"  and  in  Christ  first  of  all.  .  .  . 

My  engagement  with  the  Church  runs  on  until  May.  Perhaps 
they  will  get  over  their  bashfulness  and  ordain  me  themselves. 
If  not,  I  shall  continue  to  employ  some  one  to  administer  the 
ordinances,  and  of  that  they  are  already  sick.  If  they  get  tired 
of  me,  I  shall  go  to  school-keeping.  At  any  event  I  have  a  wife 
who  will  bear  me  on  angel's  wings,  for  she  has  even  a  more  de- 
termined will  to  give  up  all  for  truth  than  I;  and  we  will  eat 
bread  and  drink  water  together  with  a  good  conscience,  if  we  have 
no  other  thing  to  season  our  meal.  Mr.  Robbins  gives  me  every 
encouragement,  and  all  my  friends  express  sympathy  enough. 
But  I  want  strength,  and  will  try  what  the  press  can  do.  I  shall 
probably  take  steps  at  once  to  publish  a  number  of  my  sermons, 
and  an  essay  or  two.  Affectionately  your  son, 

Peter. 

To  this  letter  my  grandfather,  January  17,  returned  an 
affectionate  reply,  regretting  still  Peter's  peculiar  views, 
yet  offering  to  assist  him  in  the  expense  of  the  publication 
of  his  proposed  "Address"  and  some  sermons,  and  sending 
greeting  to  Susan,  "the  beloved." 

20,  1849.    To  HIS  Father. 

...  I  do  not  wonder,  dear  father,  that  you  think  my  course  a 
foolish  one.  But  think  of  it  as  rather  forced  upon  me  than  chosen. 
I  have  humbled  myself  to  appear  before  a  body  of  men,  most 
of  whom  arc  rny  inferiors  in  experience,  knowledge  and,  I  dare 
to  add,  the  love  of  the  Truth.  I  offered  to  submit  to  the  usual 
examination  and  begged  the  usual  license.  They  violated  their 
acknowledged  duty,  denied  me  my  acknowledged  rights,  re- 
fused me  even  an  examination,  though  they  claim  the  right  to 
license  and  examine,  and  sent  me  away  to  get  along  as  best  I  can. 
.  .  .  How  often  have  I  heard  you,  these  twenty  years  past,  com- 
plain of  the  sermons  you  listened  to,  meagre  technicalities  and 
stale  generalities,  coming  from  a  brain  gone  to  sleep  these  years 
past,  and  finding  no  access  to  the  heart!  I  preach  another  way. 
I  say  nothing — I  never  will  say,  what  I  do  not  feel  myself,  and 
which  I  can  make  the  ground  of  some  new  resolution  to  a  better 
obedience  in  the  lives  of  my  parishioners.  And  if  I  cannot  make 
my  friends  here  more  godly  as  well  as  more  devotional,  better 
sons  and  daughters,  wives  and  husbands,  fathers  and  mothers, 


i849  ENGAGEMENT  209 

as  well  as  better  Church-goers,  I  shall  quit  preaching  with  the 
conviction  that  the  Lord  has  not  sent  me.  .  .  . 

In  one  sense  you  are  quite  right  in  saying,  Father,  that  the 
points  of  difference  are  unimportant.  Technically  it  is  so,  but 
really  my  very  foundation  principles  are  different  from  theirs. 
In  theology  I  agree  with  them;  in  Christianity  I  am  at  swords' 
points  with  them.  My  logic  makes  me  explain  the  Bible  as  they 
do;  my  experience  in  life  and  the  grace  of  God  in  my  heart  make 
evident  to  me  gross  defects  in  the  modes  adopted  by  men  of  learn- 
ing and  influence  to  regenerate  the  world. 

I  am  convinced  that  to  be  a  Christian,  one  must  follow  Christ 
in  all  things;  reject  all  unlawful  authority;  scorn  all  worldly 
bribes;  work  hard;  suffer  much  and  with  patience;  be  forgiving 
to  the  utmost  extreme  of  non-resistance;  oppose  and  rebuke  all 
falsehood  and  evil  in  the  world,  be  hated  by  many,  reviled,  slan- 
dered by  many,  misunderstood  by  almost  all. 

I  cannot  give  up  my  Christian  liberty.  I  cannot  say  or, do 
anything  to  violate  my  conscience,  at  any  price,  or  for  any  ad- 
vantage to  myself  or  others.  Truth,  honesty,  simplicity,  dili- 
gence, love — these  are  the  only  agencies  I  can  employ  to  save 
men.  .  .  . 

Milton,  December  23,  1848.    To  his  Brother  Allen. 

.  .  .  You  asked  me  how  I  voted?  I  did  not  vote  at  all;  pri- 
marily because  I  was  not  at  home;  secondarily  because  I  am 
something  of  a  disunionist,  come-outer,  no-church,  no-state  man, 
Quaker,  or  what  you  please.  But  so  far  as  I  have  a  political 
heart,  it  was  every  fibre  of  it  for  the  Free  Soil  movement.  I 
know  nothing  about  the  Candidates;  but  I  do  know  something 
about  principles.  I  cannot  distinguish  Whig  principles  from  Dem- 
ocratic very  nicely  (though  so  far  as  I  can  I  am  a  Democrat 
and  not  a  Whig,  i.e.  I  am  opposed  to  all  restriction,  monopoly, 
etc.),  but  I  find  no  difficulty  in  determining  the  value  of  the  new 
Northern  principle,  and  wish  it  to  obtain  from  Maine  to  Mexico. 
I  would  therefore  have  voted  for  Van  Buren  had  I  been  at  home, 
though  I  have  no  assurance  that  he  could  have  played  fair  with 
the  principle.  It  was  everything,  however,  to  poll  300,000  votes 
upon  a  principle.  It  matters  very  little,  I  suspect,  what  sort 
of  a  government  or  of  what  politics,  we  have;  but  it  matters  every- 
thing what  sort  of  a  people  and  of  what  principles.  I  never 
would  think  of  overturning  a  government,  however  bad.  Re- 
form the  people's  views,  and  rectify  their  feelings,  and  every- 
thing desirable  is  accomplished.     Louis  Napoleon,    Cavaignac, 


2IO  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

and  Lamartine  will  in  turn  become  presidents,  as  the  people 
become  Louis  Napoleons,  Cavaignacs,  and  Lamartines,  in  a 
progressive  series.  When  all  the  Citizens  of  this  "free  land" 
become  freemen  by  principle  and  not  by  custom,  and  peace- 
able on  principle  and  not  on  expediency,  then  General  Taylors 
can  no  more  easily  be  elected  to  the  presidential  chair  than 
Frelinghuysens  can  now.     Such  are  my  politics  in  the  rough.  .  .  . 

Jan.  2,  1849.    To  Susan  I.  Lyman. 

...  I  am  preparing  two  sermons  for  publication  and  an  ad- 
dress to  the  Association  expressing  my  views  and  detailing  the  his- 
tory of  our  affair  in  brief.  This  last  I  shall  write  in  Northampton. 
I  think  this  is  the  best  way  of  correcting  common  rumor.  The 
people  here  are  very  determined,  and  I  believe  very  unanimous, 
but  naturally  anxious.  They  are  both  timid  and  angry.  Nothing 
will  be  done,  and  excitement  will  gradually  allay  itself.  By 
May  they  will  be  prepared  either  to  renew  our  contract  as  it  stands, 
with  the  inconvenience  to  which  I  must  submit  next  Sunday, 
of  getting  some  one  to  fill  my  place, — or  to  pass  a  resolution  as 
a  church,  empowering  me  to  fulfil  all  the  functions  of  a  Minister. 
This  will  be  old-fashioned  Congregational  ordination.  .  .  . 

January  22nd. 

To-day  I  went  into  town  and  read  my  paper  on  Roger  Bacon 
to  the  Club  and  afterwards  dined  at  James  Savage's,  and  spent 
an  hour  at  Mr.  Revere's  where  I  found  Dr.  F.,  Mrs.  Davis  and 
their  beautiful  little  girl,  your  namesake;  Mrs.  Howe  also  came 
in.  I  did  not  see  Mrs.  Hillard  to-day.  Nor  did  I  see  Rogers 
again,  with  whom  I  spent  two  very  happy  hours  on  Saturday. 
He  is  in  fine  health  and  spirits  and  will  commence  his  lectures 
in  six  weeks.  Yesterday  I  preached  two  sermons  on  Govern- 
ment, from  the  fifth  Commandment,  which  to  my  great  astonish- 
ment were  very  much  approved.  The  California  fever  has  at- 
tacked the  best  young  men  of  Boston  Bay.  Married  men  are 
lesLving  their  families  too.  All  eyes  are  strained  in  the  direction 
of  the  dear  Idol.  All  ships,  casks,  crackers,  preserves,  hams 
and  divers  other  things  are  bought  up  for  the  ships,  and  not  to 
be  had  by  honest  folks  for  love  or  money.  Come,  Susie,  shall 
we  go? 

January  2^h. 

.  .  .  Adam  Ballou's  masterly  tract  upon  Non-resistance  has 
made  me  more  than  ever  unwilling  to  use  any  language  which 


i849  ENGAGEMENT  2ii 

might  covertly  practise  retaliation  or  exhibit  the  least  spirit  of 
revenge  or  even  self-defence.  Still  I  feel  the  strongest  leaning 
to  an  open  utterance  of  opinion,  let  the  consequences  be  what  they 
may.  Why  should  truth  come  to  us  but  to  be  again  distributed! 
I  am  dissatisfied  with  everything  I  write,  but  that  is  but  the  lees 
of  endeavor.  Aristotle  in  his  great  Ethics  makes  Energy,  and 
not  Success,  equivalent  to  Happiness.  ... 

January  Tpth. 

.  .  .  I  heard  Fanny  [Kemble]  Butler  read  "Midsummer Night's 
Dream"  last  evening.  She  read  two  hours,  and  came  as  near  as 
possible  to  doing  the  impossible.  The  best  evidence  to  me 
of  her  success,  and  the  reach  of  her  exquisite  art,  is  that  I  could 
with  all  my  introversion  detect  no  trace  of  that  ringing  recollec- 
tion of  one  tone,  which  always  follows  the  continued  reading  of 
all  other  persons  to  my  ear.  .  .  .  There  was  too  much  acting,  shak- 
ing the  head  and  baring  the  gums,  in  it,  as  she  sat  before  the 
great  folio  copy  of  the  immortal  bard,  .  .  .  but  the  intonations 
of  her  voice  were  the  most  melodious  music.  .  .  . 

We  will  talk  some  day  of  this.  The  best  test  of  genius  per- 
haps is  that  it  makes  a  spectator  or  listener  feel  himself  endowed 
with  some  exaltation  of  his  own  talents,  or  with  some  new  talent 
which  he  never  knew  before. 


My  father  had  written  once,  bewailing  his  many  moods 
and  variable  temper  of  mind  and  spirits,  fearful  lest  he 
should  prove  a  trying  companion  as  the  years  went  on.  My 
mother  in  a  letter  written  only  a  few  days  before  their  mar- 
riage comforts  him  in  these  words : — 

You  often  speak  of  your  variable  moods,  as  if  you  thought 
they  would  trouble  me.  But  it  is  never  so.  I  rejoice  that  you 
express  them  all,  and  I  rejoice  that  they  all  give  a  variety  to 
my  own  thought,  which  my  more  monotonous  temperament 
fails  to  supply  me  with: — indeed  I  am  constantly  rejoicing  in 
the  unlikeness  of  our  temperaments,  as  much  as  I  delight  in 
the  likeness  of  our  hopes,  aims,  tastes  and  purposes. 

I  would  not  assert  that  the  hours  of  deep  depression 
which  my  father  was  always  liable  to,  were  never  a  sor- 
row or  trial  to  my  mother,  but  that  she  was  never  irritated  by 


212  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  x 

them  I  can  say.  And  she  never  allowed  them  either  to  dis- 
turb her  own  inner  serenity  of  spirit,  or  the  underlying 
happiness  of  the  household.  The  fact  that  they  were  but 
fleeting  shadows  over  the  brightness  of  our  family  life,  neither 
she  nor  my  father  ever  forgot. 

Feb.  8,  1849.    Peter  Lesley  to  Susan  I.  Lyman. 

.  .  .  My  plans,  notions,  thoughts,  often  suddenly  formed  and 
crude,  may  not  always  please  you,  and  may  sometimes  even 
make  you  a  little  anxious, — but  better  that  than  not  to  know 
them  all.  We  must  lead  but  one  life  between  us.  I  desire  to 
have  no  pleasure  that  I  cannot  share  with  you, — and  I  am  afraid 
to  keep  a  sorrow  back  from  your  sharing  it.  And  I  am  very  sure 
that  you  will  let  me  help  bear  all  your  sorrows,  whatever  they 
may  be.    That  will  be  the  great  joy  of  my  life.  .  .  . 


PETER  LESLEY 
From  an  old  Daguerreotype 


CHAPTER  XI 

Marriage,  and  Milton  Life.     1849-185  i 

My  father  and  mother  were  married  by  their  friend 
Rufus    Ellis    in    Northampton,    February    13,    1849.     My 
mother  was  in  such  delicate  health  that  the  wedding  was 
of  the  quietest,   and  no  friends  even  were  invited.     The 
young  couple  repaired  at  once  to  Milton,  where  they  lived 
for  some  months  at  Mr.  James  Robbins's  home  on  Brush 
Hill.     Mr.  Robbins  was  my  mother's  uncle,  and  he  and  his 
wife  were  affectionately  devoted  to  her,  and  to  her  husband. 
Later  in  the  season  they  found  it  best  to  set  up  independent 
housekeeping,  and  took  rooms  on  the  Brook  Road,  in  a 
house  backed  up  against  a  large  sand  pit.     This  not  prov- 
ing a  healthy  residence,  they  moved  to  Mattapan,  and  finally 
spent  their  last  year  on  Milton  Hill,  in  a  little  house  which 
stood,  I  believe,  on  a  front  corner  of  Mr.  Watson's  place, 
and  which  was  later  moved  away.     During  these  years  my 
mother  suffered  much  ill-health,  and  at  times  was  very  near 
death.     No  one  thought  it  probable  that  either  she  or  my 
father  was  fated  to  live  out  a  long  life,  and  the  many  friends 
in  and  around  Milton  did  everything  which  friendship  could 
devise  to  make  their  days  happy;  and,  in  spite  of  all  anxiety 
and  suffering,   very  happy  years  these  were.     My  father 
eked  out  his  slender  salary  as  pastor  of  a  small  church,  by 
constant  work  of  various  kinds  on  week-days.     Mr.  Rogers 
supplied  him  with  geological   and  topographical  drafting, 
and  he  wrote  occasionally  magazine  articles,  and  gave  a 
lecture   here    and    there,  as    opportunity   occurred.     What 
would  have   been  a  sufficient  income  with  health,  was  in- 
sufficient to  the  needs  of  constant  illness,  and  it  required 
all  his  efforts  to  keep  out  of   debt  and   a  little  "ahead." 
This  state  of  things,  however,  was  what  both  the  young 
people  were  prepared    for,  and   they  met  it  with  a,  brave 
spirit.    I  find  no  repining  or  complaint  in  the  letters  written 
during  this  time. 

213 


214  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xi 

One  great  blessing,  among  others,  they  had.  My 
mother's  aunt,  Catherine  Robbins,  came  to  her,  and  again 
and  again  tenderly  nursed  her  back  to  health,  guarding 
her  for  months  at  a  time  from  over-exertion.  My  mother 
loved  her  dearly,  and  my  father  became  deeply  attached  to 
her, — an  affection  which  she  most  richly  deserved.  During 
this  period  she  was  an  almost  constant  member  of  their 
household. 

My  father  was  himself  the  tenderest  of  nurses.  He  had 
the  gentle  yet  firm  touch  of  hand  which  brings  comfort  to 
an  invalid,  and  he  knew  instinctively  how  to  lift  and  carry 
a  sick  person  or  a  child  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  most  relief 
and  least  pain.  He  was  also  full  of  devices  for  the  comfort 
or  amusement  of  a  sick  friend,  and  untiring  in  his  devotion. 

My  mother  told  us  once,  referring  to  these  happy  yet 
anxious  days,  how  one  day,  after  weeks  of  hard  work  over 
some  map-making,  he  came  running  into  her  sick-room  and 
threw  twenty-five  dollars  into  her  lap,  crying  gleefully, 
"There,  Susie,  my  map  is  done,  and  that  will  keep  you  in 
little  birds  for  a  month." 

He  was  often  away  from  home  for  weeks  at  a  time  on 
surveying  trips  in  Pennsylvania,  in  spring,  summer,  or 
autumn,  whenever  he  could  make  arrangements  for  leaving 
his  parish,  and  during  such  absence  they  wrote  daily  to 
each  other. 

Brush  Hill,  Thursday  Morning.     Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  HER  Mother. 

When  we  reached  the  Boston  depot,  there  was  Uncle  Edward 
and  the  man,  with  the  covered  sleigh.  .  .  .  We  rode  over  Milton 
Hill,  the  day  was  bright  and  beautiful,  and  the  view  perfect.  We 
stopped  a  few  minutes  to  see  Mrs.  Ware  and  leave  my  flowers, 
which  had  kept  very  fresh,  and  looked  lovely.  .  .  .  Her  eyes  are 
very  large  and  unnaturally  bright,  and  her  whole  appearance 
gives  you  the  feehng  that  there  is  nothing  left  but  the  spirit.  .  .  . 
Peter  sends  his  best  love  to  you.  He  went  right  to  work  the 
minute  he  got  here,  and  he  is  to-day  quite  shocked  that  both 
his  sermons  are  not  written.  In  vain  I  tell  him  that  this  is  a 
remarkable  week.  He  does  not  seem  to  think  that  being  married 
can  take  a  person  from  his  work,  only  just  long  enough  to  have 
the  knot  tied. 


i849  MARRIAGE.    MILTON  LIFE  215 

Brush  Hill,  Thursday,  Feb.  15,  1849.    To  his  Father. 

Your  kind  letter  gave  me  great  pleasure.  How  much  I  owe 
you  in  the  past !  and  the  future  will  only  bind  me  the  more  closely 
to  your  heart.  I  can  now  present  you  with  a  daughter,  for  we 
were  married  day  before  yesterday,  and  returned  yesterday,  stop- 
ping at  Worcester  to  permit  of  my  making  G.  Bushnell's  acquaint- 
ance. He  is  a  very  agreeable  man  and  holds  a  strong  position. 
He  has  lately  been  attacked  by  the  Champions  ( ?)  of  Newbury- 
port  (Eells  and  Dana?),  but  laughs  at  them. 

We  are  in  our  own  nice  room,  at  home,  and  so  good  a  home 
few  have  ever  had.  Susie  is  as  happy  as  an  angel,  and  I — still 
happier.  We  feel  disposed  to  doubt  our  ever  having  lived 
asunder,  it  seems  so  natural  to  live  together.  Our  tastes  click 
together  like  two  clocks.  .  .  . 

Milton,  February  21.    To  his     rother  William. 

.  .  .  Last  week  I  went  to  see  Miss  Frederika  Bremer,  the  cele- 
brated Swedish  Novelist,  who  is  staying  at  the  house  of  a  friend 
of  mine,  Mr.  Benzon,  now  in  Europe.  I  found  her  very  good- 
natured  and  thoughtful,  modest  and  ladylike.  She  is  small  and 
not  what  would  be  called  handsome,  but  with  fine  soft  eyes.  She 
could  not  tell  me  about  my  German  friends,  the  Tholucks,  because 
they  did  not  correspond  with  her  after  leaving  Sweden.  Miss 
Bremer  last  Monday  dined  at  the  Hillards  with  the  English  Pro- 
fessor Johnson,  who  is  delivering  a  course  of  Agricultural  and 
Scientific  lectures  at  the  Lowell  Institution  this  year.  After 
dinner  they  persuaded  her  to  go  to  see  the  new  Enharmonic 
Organ  invented  by  young  Poule,  and  the  only  successful  attempt 
of  the  kind  since  Liston's  celebrated  organ  at  Calcutta,  which 
was  a  bungling  concern  compared  with  this.  .  .  . 

Last  evening  I  lectured  before  the  Lyceum  here  on  the 
Aboriginal  settlement  of  Europe.  [A  long  ethnological  descrip- 
tion follows.]  Then  I  showed  them  a  map  in  distemper  colors 
which  I  completed  yesterday,  on  which  I  laid  down  the  original 
boundaries  of  the  older  races.  .  .  . 


His  father  wrote  him  a  letter  February  21,  in  which  these 
words  occur: — 

I  sometimes  feel  very  gloomy  about  your  situation — ^would 
that  I  had  more  faith  in  the  great  Head  of  the  Church,  that  my 
fears  might  be  calmed.    I  send  you  a  number  of  the  North  Amer- 


2i6  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xi 

ican — look  at  the  Article  on  Fourierism — I  hope  you  have  dis- 
carded that  crotchet. — I  cannot  but  say  that  your  entertaining 
that  theory  has  given  me  more  alarm  than  anything  else — for  it 
does  appear  to  me  to  be  utterly  impracticable  in  practice,  and 
being  so,  highly  mischievous  in  all  its  bearings  on  Society. — Man 
is  not  fitted  for  the  system — and  will  not  be  until  the  Millennium. 

To  which  his  son  replied  as  follows: — 

Febrtiary  2^th. 

...  I  laughed  at  your  paragraph  on  Fourierism.  The  paper 
did  not  come;  it  will  perhaps  by  to-day's  mail  and  I  shall  read 
the  article.  But  you  know  that  a  newspaper  article  seldom  either 
exhausts  a  subject  or  plumbs  any  great  distance  towards  its  bot- 
tom. As  to  the  Science  of  Social  life,  I  treat  it  as  I  do  the  science 
of  Geology,  or  of  antiquities, — I  have  established  its  foundation 
principles,  and  accept  all  further  light,  incorporating  all  new 
facts  as  they  come.  More  than  that  I  cannot  do.  I  preach, 
i.e.  express  my  convictions  of  the  Science,  when  opportunities 
occur,  just  as  I  do  about  any  other  science, — but  that  is  all  I  can 
do.  Everybody  knows  I  am  a  Fourierite,  just  as  everybody 
knows  I  am  a  Geologist  and  a  Calvinist, — but  I  cannot  help 
that;  and  no  one  seems  to  care — and  why  should  they?  I  do 
not  preach  any  of  these  ideas  or  convictions  of  mine,  as  Mo- 
hammed did  his,  with  a  Scimetar.  But  I  always  say  what  I  think, 
at  all  times,  on  all  subjects,  and  surely  that  is  right.  But  how 
seldom  the  subject  of  social  matters  comes  up  in  any  dogmatic  or 
polemic  mode,  you  would  see  if  you  spent  a  week  or  two  here, — 
and  fail  to  feel  any  more  anxiety.  .  .  . 

To  which  Susan  adds: — 

.  ,  .  How  I  wish  too,  you  could  go  to  our  little  church,  and 
see  the  devoted  attention  that  all  the  people  give  to  dear  Peter's 
words. — ^Their  affection  for  him  is  very  beautiful,  and  I  feel 
sure  that  this  is  a  useful  position  for  any  one  who  is  faithful  and 
devoted.  .  .  . 

April  13,  1849.    Peter  Lesley  to  Mrs.  Lyman. 

Susan  wishes  to  write  herself,  but  is  not  able.  She  is  in  fact 
a  very  crank  ship;  I  wish  she  could  fairly  right  herself,  and 
keep  righted.  Providence  sent  her  off  through  life  with  a  very 
evident  label  "Crockery.  This  side  up  with  Care."  All  her 
sweetness  is  Muscovado:    a  sort  of  broken-loaf.     She's  like  an 


1849  MARRIAGE.    MILTON   LIFE  217 

old  Cremona:  the  more  she  is  broken  and  glued  up  again,  the 
sweeter  and  clearer  is  her  tone.  I  have  a  notion  that  in  spite 
of  all  prophecies  adverse  thereunto,  our  destiny  is  to  grov^  old 
together.  We  call  ourselves  Cherubim, — and  we  have  six  vi^ings, 
all  right, — with  two  we  cover  our  eyes  (for  no  poor  couple  ever 
thought  or  cared  less  for  the  future), — with  two  we  cover  our  feet 
(nobody  knew  less  or  cared  less  about  ways  and  means,  or  the 
ground  on  which  they  stood), — and  with  two  we  do  fly, — nicely. 
In  fact  you  never  saw  such  flying.  Life  is  a  simon-pure  dream, 
of  the  Chateau  d'Espagne  kind,  to  which  I  hope  there  will  be  no 
waking.  .  .  . 

I  have  told  in  the  last  chapter  of  my  father's  applica- 
tion to  the  North  Suffolk  Association  to  ordain  him  as  min- 
ister, and  of  their  refusal  to  do  so.  At  that  time,  December, 
1848,  it  will  be  remembered,  he  wrote  to  his  father,  "I  shall 
probably  take  steps  at  once  to  publish  a  number  of  my  ser- 
mons and  an  essay  or  two." 

In  the  following  spring  he  carried  out  this  intention  and 
published  "An  address  to  the  Suffolk  North  Association  of 
Congregational  Ministers."* 

This  little  volume  was  a  vigorous  plea  for  the  rights  of 
the  congregations  and  people  to  take  charge  of  their  own 
affairs,  choose,  ordain,  and  depose  their  own  ministers,  etc. 
It  was  also  a  demand  for  individual  freedom  of  belief,  for 
the  right  of  change  in  that  belief,  of  development,  of  en- 
larged vision,  from  the  experiences  of  life.  The  address 
closes  with  these  words: — 

And  does  any  of  you,  O  Veritatis  filii  immutahiles!  know  what 
he  shall  be  to-morrow?  By  the  grace  of  God  you  are  what  you 
are,  if  you  have  either  goodness  or  truth.  Perhaps  God  has  not 
taught  you  everything  yet;  and  certainly  by  his  good  grace  alone 
can  you  stand  in  your  present  faith,  if  it  be  the  right  one.  ...  I 
lay  no  claim  to  consistency,  because  the  very  law  of  life  is  Change 
and  Progress,  and  he  [a  minister  mentioned  in  the  address]  is  incon- 
sistent from  the  necessity  of  that  law,  working  in  the  marrow  and 

*  An  Address  to  the  Suffolk  North  Association  of  Congregational  Min- 
isters, by  J.  P.  Lesley,  Minister  of  the  First  Evangelical  Church,  Milton 
(58  pages),  Boston,  1849.  Also  sermons  on  the  Rule  of  Faith,  Inspiration 
of  the  Scriptures,  and  the  Church  (pp.  59-130). 


2i8  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xi 

joints  of  his  spiritual  being — let  him  profess  consistency  as  he 
please.  Is  he  a  fit  overseer  of  souls?  Read  his  autobiography 
and  see.  Am  I  ?  Read  my  sermons,  examine  my  conversation 
and  see.  Try  all  trees  by  their  fruits.  And  in  the  end  all  fruits 
vi^ill  be  tasted. 

Farewell,  brethren  of  the  Suffolk  North  Association.  God 
give  you  light,  and  light  to  us  all,  and  help  us  walk  in  the  futher- 
ance  of  the  Gospel  and  the  setting  up  of  the  kingdom  of  his  dear 
Son.  I  have  said  but  little  with  all  these  words,  and  some  of 
them  may  pain  you,  and  some  may  anger  you,  for  which  I  shall 
be  sorry.  I  have  friends  among  you  who  will  know  how  to  take 
my  words  when  others  mistake  them.  To  the  good,  I  can  do  no 
injury;  the  good  are  always  safe;  there  are  none  but  chained  lions 
in  the  Way  of  Life.  To  the  influence  of  the  bad  I  wish  I  could  do 
irreparable  injury.  Every  plant  that  our  Heavenly  Father  has  not 
planted  must  be  rooted  up,  sooner  or  later,  by  agencies  of  his  own 
appointment,  of  the  number  of  which  are  we.  I  have  said  nothing 
new,  nothing  that  has  not  been  said  better,  a  thousand  times  re- 
peated, a  thousand  times  ridiculed,  rebuked,  punished,  and  put  to 
silence,  and  a  thousand  times  spoken  out  again.  I  am  but  one  of 
a  thousand,  and  speak  in  sympathy  with  thousands.  If  I  can  by 
the  sacrifice  of  peace  which  this  will  cost  me,  nerve  the  heart  of 
one  young  man,  whom  the  clerical  system  is  about  to  rob  of  Sin- 
cerity and  Liberty,  and  to  turn  into  an  agent  of  tyranny,  I  shall 
be  compensated. 

I  remain  with  due  respect  your  friend  and  Christian  Brother, 

J.  P.  Lesley. 

His  father  sent  an  earnest  appeal  to  him  to  refrain  from 
publishing  his  "Address,"  saying,  "You  may  take  pride  in 
raising  a  '  hubbub '  among  your  clerical  brethren,  but  depend 
upon  it,  your  Master  who  called  you  to  preach  His  Gospel 
never  constituted  you  a  veritable  Don  Quixote  to  drive  a 
lance  at  every  error,  which  a  young  man  like  you  may  sup- 
pose to  exist  in  the  world."  To  which  he  replies  as  fol- 
lows : — 

Brush  Hill,  May  lo,  1849.    To  his  Father, 

Your  kind  letter  of  the  fifth  met  me  on  my  return  from 
Cambridge  this  afternoon,  and  sensibly  touched  me.  I  not  only 
deserve  your  rebuke,  but  would  be  a  better  man  for  more  like 
it.  .  .  .  But  with  respect,  dear  father,  to  my  ecclesiastical  connec- 


i849       ■  MARRIAGE.    MILTON  LIFE  219 

tions,  I  have  been  actuated  not  only  by  the  passions  of  the 
human  heart  (oppression  making  even  a  wise  man  mad),  but 
by  an  irresistible  sense  of  duty.  I  feel  myself  called  upon  to  say 
calmly  certain  things  that  now  ought  to  be  said,  by  somebody; 
whoever  says  them  must  suffer  for  it;  I  shall  suffer  less  than  many 
others  would.  You  know  what  the  shepherd  boy  sang,  "He  that 
is  down  need  fear  no  fall."  It  is  impossible  that  anything  I  may 
put  into  print  can  hurt  me  now,  for  my  ecclesiastical  condition  is 
as  bad  as  it  well  can  be, — for  me  still  to  be  respected  as  an  honest 
and  plain-spoken  man.  On  the  contrary  it  is  due  to  my  opinions 
and  character  that  I  say  what  I  can  in  self-justification.  But  that 
I  think  httle  of.  I  am  sure  that  such  things  as  I  say,  are  needful 
and  good,  and  I  am  neither  ashamed  nor  afraid  of  them.  What 
they  are,  and  how  I  have  said  them,  you  shall  learn  in  a  few  days, 
the  second  sheet  duodecimo  being  to-day  under  the  press.  Some 
things  will  offend  and  startle  you  perhaps,  but  the  greatest  part 
you  will  affirm  to  be  just  and  good.  I  have  shrunk  from  publish- 
ing, because  of  the  "hubbub,"  which  I  am  the  last  to  desire  to 
raise  or  to  endure. 

No,  dear  Father,  I  have  allowed  everything  to  hinder  me  and 
to  postpone  this  publication.  I  read  it  to  five  several  persons, 
three  of  them  ministers,  and  one  of  them  a  member  of  the  Associa- 
tion, accepting  his  corrections,  and  carefully  rewriting  facts  after 
his  dictation,  lest  I  might  do  any  injustice.  I  struck  out  para- 
graphs that  Susie  thought  too  hard,  and  others  which  Mr.  Guern- 
sey considered  unjust.  And  now  that  the  text  is  in  publication, 
I  give  the  issue  into  God's  hand,  for  in  God's  sight  I  have  tried 
only  to  do  my  duty.  .  .  . 

I  thank  you  many  times  for  your  mention  of  Susan.  She  will 
appreciate  it,  as  I  do.  But  the  dear  girl  sustains  me  when  my 
courage  fails  in  what  I  believe  to  be  my  Duty.  I  do  not  war 
with  Truth,  nor  Orthodoxy,  nor  Society,  nor  any  man  or  set  of 
men,  as  such;  but  with  a  system  of  despotic  power  from  which  I 
have  suffered  severely,  and  which  I  have  the  fairest  opportunity 
and  excuse  for  attacking,  doubtless  to  the  great  comfort  and 
strengthening  of  some  hereafter.  It  is  true  that  I  wish  to  degrade 
the  Clergy — but  only  to  their  true  platform  of  duty;  and  in  order 
to  elevate  private  Christians  to  their  proper  height  of  privilege 
and  duty  also.  .  .  . 

Northampton,  May  19.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

Before  going  to  bed  last  night  I  looked  over  your  Address, 
for  the  last  time,  Mother  having  read  and  liked  it;  and  then  I 


220  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  -chap,  xi 

prayed  most  earnestly  that  if  it  did  no  good,  it  might  not  lose  you 
any  of  the  real  influence  you  already  possess. — You  would  not 
thank  me  for  keeping  any  thought  to  myself,  and  so  I  do  not.  I 
feel  confidence  in  its  being  printed  because  you  sacrificed  taste 
and  feeling  to  what  seemed  a  painful  duty,  and  I  shall  ever  be 
regardless  of  any  consequence,  that  does  not  affect  your  power  of 
doing  good.  But  I  see  in  you,  every  moment,  something  so  far 
higher,  and  more  beautiful  than  you  could  by  any  possibility  ex- 
press in  an  effort  of  this  kind,  that  I  cannot  but  rejoice  that  you 
will  never  again  have  such  a  duty  to  do. .  . . 

May  22.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  read  the  last  proof  and  joyfully  join  you  in  believing 
and  praying  that  no  duty  of  this  kind  shall  come  to  me  again.  .  .  . 
Do  not  think  any  more  of  the  address;  it  is  odious  to  me;  yet  it 
had  to  he.  I  do  not  regret — I  only  feel  disgust.  Nor  do  I  fear 
anything.  .  .  . 

Whether  the  Address  produced  the  "hubbub"  dreaded 
by  my  grandfather  or  whether  it  was  taken  seriously  enough 
to  produce  the  small  amount  of  good  which  my  father  hoped 
from  its  appearance  in  print,  I  have  no  way  of  knowing. 
My  father,  having  accomplished  any  piece  of  work,  turned 
his  mind  to  other  things,  and  seemed  to  regard  with  slight 
interest  what  might  follow  from  it.  He  was  singularly 
devoid  of  personal  ambition,  which  may  partly  account 
for  this.  And  he  was  also  so  fully  and  constantly  absorbed 
in  present  work  and  present  duties  that  for  him  to  let  "the 
dead  past  bury  its  dead"  was  a  necessity,  as  it  was  also  a 
natural  habit  of  mind. 

Milton,  May,  1849.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  spent  an  hour  with  Hinckley  *  on  my  way  home  from  the 
lower  village  yesterday, — his  deer  picture  is  very  pretty;  six 
deer  in  sight,  on  highlands  overlooking  the  sea.  ...  A  little  note 
from  Wendell  Phillips  lies  before  me,  inviting  me  to  speak  next 
week  before  the  Anti-slavery  Society.  I  do  not  feel  called  to 
do  so;  and  if  I  did,  I  should  have  to  say  some  practical  truths 
which  they  would  not  like  to  hear  perhaps,  and  which  I  certainly 

*  Thomas  Hinckley,  an  animal  painter  of  some  note. 


i849  MARRIAGE.     MILTON   LIFE  221 

would  not  like  to  utter.  I  cannot  endure  their  neglect  of  exact 
truth,  any  more  than  their  lack  of  the  spirit  of  tenderness  and 
love,  in  what  they  write  and  speak.  At  the  same  time  I  see  the 
cause,  and  appreciate  it, — they  roar  by  instinct  like  lions,  and 
wise  people  must  interpret.  .  .  . 

Brush  Hill,  July  13.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  Peter  Lesley,  Sr. 

.  .  .  Peter  has  made  seats  out  of  boughs,  and  put  them  in 
every  little  nook  about  the  place,  so  that  in  our  walks  we  can 
rest  wherever  we  like. — He  has  now  taken  his  books  and  writing, 
and  gone  to  one  of  the  shadiest,  to  work  till  dinner-time.  He 
has  not  been  as  well  as  I  wish  he  were,  all  summer,  but  he  rarely 
has  to  stop  writing  a  whole  day,  and  I  keep  hoping  that  when  the 
extreme  hot  weather  is  over,  he  will  be  much  better.  We  spend 
the  evenings  in  visiting  our  good  people,  which  often  takes  us  a 
circuit  of  six  miles  through  the  most  beautiful  scenery  and  wooded 
lanes  in  all  the  country  round.  We  have  been  reading  together 
a  book  that  has  delighted  us  much,  "Earth  and  Man," — ^you 
would  like  it  too — it  is  by  a  Mr.  Guyot  whom  Peter  has  seen.  .  .  . 

Medford,  Aug.  20,  1849.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Father. 

.  .  .  The  scientific  Association  has  been  meeting  all  last  week 
and  this,  at  Cambridge.  Susan  and  I  have  therefore  made  our 
headquarters  here  at  Edward  Head's,  and  I  walk  to  Cambridge 
every  morning  and  back  in  the  evening.  The  sessions  have  been 
of  high  interest.  The  walking  has  done  me  material  benefit. 
I  need  more  exercise  than  I  get.  My  sermons  are  of  a  kind  to 
require  much  time,  and  I  am  also  preparing  a  course  of  lectures 
for  the  winter,  and  with  unlooked-for  success  in  the  investigation 
of  the  particular  subject  which  I  have  selected.  I  shall  try  to 
deliver  the  course  next  year  in  Philadelphia,  with  illlustrations 
and  diagrams.  It  embraces  the  whole  ground  of  ethnological 
and  mythological  Unity  of  the  human  race  and  refers  all  ancient 
history  back  to  the  facts  of  the  Noachic  Deluge.  .  .  . 

Mllton,  Oct.  6,  1849.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Aunt  Hall. 

My  dearest  "Mother  Aunt," — .  .  .  How  can  I  describe 
to  you  how  we  live  in  living  by  ourselves!  It  is  a  paradise.  .  .  . 
We  do  as  we  see  best,  with  none  to  molest  or  make  us  afraid. 
Sometimes  Mother  Lyman  comes  from  Northampton  and  dines 
with  us,  and  lives  the  rest  of  the  time  on  Brush  Hill.  Some- 
times Aunt  Kitty  Robbins,  who  is  to  Susan  what  you  are  to  me, 


222  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xi 

comes  over  from  Cambridge  and  stays  with  us.  .  .  .  Soon  we 
expect  Dr.  Henderson,  my  old  and  valued  friend  at  Chelsea, 
to  come  and  pass  a  night  with  us.  Then  we  have  visitors  enough 
in  the  afternoon  to  prevent  life  from  stagnating,  and  so  the  days 
move  on.  I  am  as  busy  as  a  bee  laying  up  honey  for  winter,  for 
I  expect  to  lecture  in  a  good  many  places  this  winter  and  must 
be  prepared,  and  that  too  will  help  us  make  both  ends  meet.  .  .  . 
Then  I  went  to  Cousin  Susan  Hillard's;  and  after  tea  the 
artist  Cranch  and  his  wife  from  Italy  came  in,  and  the  music 
enthusiast  John  Dwight,  both  Susan's  friends,  and  two  young 
ladies  and  another  friend, — and  we  had  songs,  and  pieces  from 
Mendelssohn  and  Wolf  and  Schubert  and  other  fine  composers, 
quite  as  much  as  my  poor  quieit  country  head  could  bear.  It 
is  good  to  hear  sweet  sounds  occasionally,  to  revive  one's  ideas 
of  the  beauty  of  the  world  of  sound,  the  counterpart  and  comple- 
ment, equally  fair  and  almost  as  infinite,  of  the  world  of  sight. 
The  ear  is  as  much  a  window  looking  out  upon  the  universe  as 
is  the  eye;  and  why  should  it  remain  close  shuttered  up?  I 
play  a  little  on  the  flute  still.  But  I  long  for  your  sweet  voice 
and  Aunt  Anna's.  Miss  Ballard's  singing  would  have  been 
applauded  by  a  concert  audience;  but  I  thought  of  yours,  and 
felt  how  poor  it  was.  I  would  rather  hear  you  sing  five  minutes 
than  her  five  hours.  ... 

Milton,  Nov.  2.    Peter  Lesley  to  Mrs.  Lyman. 

Susan  has  been  so  ill  for  several  weeks  that  all  my  time  has 
been  taken  up  in  tending  her.  I  have  had  no  exchanges  in 
my  pulpit  of  late,  but  have  got  on  very  well  by  writing  a  little 
and  speaking  extempore.  The  church  is  full,  and  the  attendance 
as  good  afternoon  as  morning.  I  have  begun  to  lecture  before 
the  Lyceums.  ... 

In  answer  to  a  letter  regretting  his  outspoken  anti- 
slavery  views,  he  writes: — 

Nov.  6,  1849.    To  HIS  Father. 

.  .  .  Let  me  here  say,  Father,  that  so  far  from  knowing  your 
interest  in  Gen.  Taylor,  I  did  not  even  know  you  voted  for  him, 
and  thought  that  in  many  things  your  political  views  had  become 
radically  democratic.  I  am  sorry  to  have  hurt  your  feehngs  by 
my  zeal  for  what  I  think  to  be  real  private 'and  national  Chris- 
tianity. But  I  am  as  unfortunate  before  my  friends  here  too. 
My  poHtics  are  very  heresy  in  Boston,  even  with  my  best  friends; 


i849  MARRIAGE.     MILTON  LIFE  223 

just  as  my  theology  is  laughed  at  as  "self-destructive"  by  the 
Independent  of  N.Y.  and  the  Congregationalists  of  New  Haven, 
and  considered  fearfully  Parkerish  by  the  more  strict  sect  of  the 
Puritans  in  Washington  St.  and  Cornhill.  But,  dear  Father, 
I  have  thought  and  felt  and  seen  too  much  for  myself  in  the  last 
ten  years  to  be  the  sport  of  any  local  wind  of  doctrine,  or  to  see 
a  bugbear  before  me  in  any  man  or  set  of  men  on  earth.  .  .  . 

Milton,  Dec  16,  1849.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  brother  Allen. 

Your  letter  of  October  9th,  your  sceptical  letter  I  mean,  has 
been  punished  sufficiently.  I  shall  now  answer  it.  In  truth 
however  it  has  been  absolutely  impossible  for  me  to  answer 
before.  For  Susan  has  not  only  been  sick,  but  sick  for  six  weeks, 
ten  miles  off,  beyond  the  city,  and  my  sermons  and  lectures 
before  Lyceums,  and  goings  to  and  fro  between  Milton  and 
Cambridge,  and  house-cleaning,  furniture-seeking  and  fixing 
up  generally  have  made  me  a  slave  without  manacles. 

Now  for  the  letter.  How  shall  I  handle  it?  What  an  intol- 
erable scoffer  you  are!  How  remorselessly  you  have  twisted 
off  the  budding  fancies  of  my  Arkism  as  they  timidly  sprouted 
in  your  presence.  But  I  wish  you  could  have  examined  the 
ground  in  which  their  roots  ran.  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Allen, 
I  shall  yet  maintain  my  position  and  prove  that  chess  is  a  druid 
game  symbolic  of  the  Deluge.  What  are  the  pawns  but  pens, 
i.e.  (Welsh)  heads,  peaks,  or  mountain  tops,  little  magic  move- 
able pyramids,  tumuli  around  the  ccer  side,  the  druid  cell,  the 
shrine  of  the  Patriarch, — like  the  thousands  that  cover  the  plain 
around  Stonehenge.*  .  .  . 

I  greatly  prefer  at  any  rate  this  Don  Quixote  campaigne  (that 
word  I  never  could  spell,  to  save  me)  in  old,  older,  oldest  regions 
of  antiquity,  against  cromlechs  and  barrows,  to  any  participation 
in  any  of  the  campaigns  of  political  parties  of  any  shade  or  side.f 

*  My  father  had  a  lifelong  hobby  in  Hnguistic  and  symbolic  investiga- 
tion, which  he  later  called  Arkite  Symbolism,  and  it  filled  many  a  happy 
hour  for  him  throughout  his  active  life.  His  brother  Allen  was  also  much 
interested  in  Oriental  languages  and  kindred  lines  of  investigation,  and 
was  a  great  traveller,  so  that  to  him  my  father  was  wont  to  write  most  copi- 
ously on  these  subjects. 

t  Politically,  the  brothers  were  quite  out  of  sympathy,  which  was  later 
a  great  grief  to  my  father.  Allen  had  been  settled  in  Delaware  for  a  num- 
ber of  years,  and  together  with  the  two  next  younger  brothers  had  become 
decidedly  Southern,  not  to  say  pro-slavery,  in  his  sympathies,  while  my 
father  and  the  two  youngest  brothers  were  most  warmly  anti-slavery  and 
abolitionist. 


224  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xi 

I  believe  more  fully  every  year  that  all  politics  are  useless  and 
hurtful,  all  governments  not  based  on  true  Christian  socialist 
principles  retardative  of  the  Millennium.  I  have  no  love  for  Whig, 
Democrat  or  Free  Soil  pohtics,  but  of  the  three  I  think  the  Free 
Soil  are  the  most  plausible  because  based  (however  slightly)  on 
a  real  spiritual  principle.  I  have  no  respect  at  all  for  the  Demo- 
crats, for  they  prostitute  the  principle  and  betray  it  at  the  same 
'time.  I  think  the  Whigs  are  as  selfish  and  unprincipled  as  the 
rest.  But  the  great  mass  of  each  party,  I  mean  the  people  who 
are  not  voted  for,  nor  desire  office,  are  honestly  infatuated  with 
the  idea  that  governments  are  good  for  something,  and  that  tariffs, 
excises,  internal  improvement  bills,  bank  charters  or  private  bank- 
ing bills, — in  a  word,  special  legislation,  will  save  or  sink  a  nation. 
The  cork  may  as  well  think  it  supports  and  directs  the  river. 
Governments  are  feathers  on  the  flood  of  great  social  and  natural 
laws,  which  have  their  way  through  and  over  governments,  like 
freshets  through  a  froth  dam.  I  pray  that  the  fools  at  Washing- 
ton may  continue  at  their  ridiculous  schemery  \sic\  all  winter; 
the  wise  would  willingly  pay  them  their  $8  per  diem  to  keep  them 
at  it — and  out  of  mischief.  So  much  for  pohtics.  You  will 
laugh  when  I  tell  you  that  while  I  was  nursing  Susan  at  Cambridge 
on  election  day,  I  was  actually  run  as  a  Democratic  candidate 
for  legislature,  and  got  38  votes,  none  of  which  of  course  were 
from  my  friends,  who  laughed  heartily  at  the  joke.  The  fellows 
who  put  me  up  gave  as  their  excuse,  that  I  had  no  enemies,  and 
would  therefore  run  well  against  the  Whigs.  I  guess  they  had 
never  heard  my  two  fast  day  sermons, — nor  divers  other  dis- 
courses of  like  tone. 

But  serious  times  may  come.  Things  look  squally.  There 
may  be  a  short  collision  between  the  infatuated  South  and  the 
indifferent  North,  which  now  feels  its  true  might,  and  the  result 
will  be  much  trouble  and  perhaps  many  lives  lost,  until  things 
settle  on  their  proper  basis.  The  South  must  become  cured  of  its 
madness  by  a  crisis  more  or  less  dangerous.  When  a  Mountain 
stands  on  its  Summit,  its  turning  over  must  crush  many  things. 
To  suppose  that  the  world  can  last  much  longer  with  slavery  as 
a  protected  thing,  is  inconceivable.  Free-soilism  is  no  power,  no 
force;  it  is  a  mere  indication.  It  announces,  like  surface  ice,  the 
chilling  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  whole  pool;  Free-soilism  could 
never  have  made  in  a  night  over  the  north,  had  not  the  north 
become  very  anti-slavery  down  through  all  strata  of  its  depth. 
Let  the  ice  melt  again  and  disappear;  another  colder  day  will 
freeze  all  sohd.    Thousands  of  Abolitionists  in  New  England 


1850  MARRIAGE.    MILTON  LIFE  225 

never  took  part  in  the  Free-soil  movement.  You  haven't  the  least 
Conception  of  the  universality  and  fixedness  of  the  anti-slavery 
sentiment  of  all  New  England  and  the  North  West  settled  by  New 
Englanders.  I  predict  that  in  ten  years  the  whole  North  will  not 
only  feel  with  the  Free  Soilers,  but  act  with  the  ultra-Abolitionists. 
And  all  the  struggles  of  the  South  are  those  of  a  maniac  in  a 
strait -jacket.  It  is  of  no  use.  Destiny  will  have  its  course.  The 
world  was  made  for  freedom  and  freemen;  for  an  endless  move- 
ment and  mingling  of  races,  and  the  gradual  improvement  of  the 
whole.     I  shall  live  to  see  a  black  man  governor  of  Georgia.  .  .  . 

Milton,  Jan.  23,  1850.    Peter  Lesley  to  his 

YOUNG   brother  ALEXANDER.* 

The  great  secret  of  letter-writing  lies  in  this:  never  to  write 
unless  you  have  something  to  say;  and  to  say  what  you  wish  to 
write  in  the  shortest,  clearest  and  kindest  manner  possible.  The 
next  rule  to  remember  is:  that  a  good  and  short  letter  is  more 
likely  to  be  read  twice,  than  an  ill-written  long  one.  And  the 
third  rule  is  this:  Never  make  apologies;  they  are  always  more  or 
less  impertinent;  for  if  they  are  good  ones,  your  correspondent 
will  make  them  for  you;  but  if  they  are  poor  ones,  only  made  to 
excuse  yourself  for  slovenly,  hasty  or  selfish  writing,  they  are 
worse  than  none  at  all,  and  "add  insult  to  injury." 

Milton,  Feb.  3,  1850.    Peter  Lesley  to  his 
BROTHER  Allen  and  his  Wife. 

I  am  diligently  at  work  upon  my  Arkism;  have  lately  studied 
Fellow's  "Lycia,"  and  got  some  ideas  from  the  analysis  of  the 
Lycian  almost  unaecipher  language.  It  was  an  oddity;  a  sister  of 
the  Zend,  written  with  a  Greekoid  alphabet,  with  ten  vowels  and 
sixteen  consonants.  I  have  also  been  studying  J.  C.  Pickering's 
ethnological  volume  of  the  Exploring  Expedition,  and  got  large 
materials  from  it  for  future  use.  He  makes  eleven  races,  Mongol, 
Malay,  Papuan,  Australian,  Negrillo,  Felingan,  Abyssinian,  Ethio- 
pian, Negro,  Hottentot  and  Arabian  (or  White,  Caucasian),  etc. . . . 

Milton,  Feb.  8,  1850.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Father. 

My  scientific  studies  have  taken  almost  exclusively  the  direc- 
tion of  history,  and  I  pursue  them  not  only  from  affection,  but  as 
the  best  safeguard  against  a  garrulous  and  empty  old  age  such 

*  Then  eleven  or  twelve  years  old. 


226  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xi 

as  Dr. 's  and  a  hundred  others,  which  I  regard  with  feelings 

akin  to  terror.    They  in  fact  fill  up  the  cask  which  is  continually 
tapped  to  the  lees.  .  .  . 

I  hear  that  our  church  intends  to  pass  a  vote  that  I  be  em- 
powered to  dispense  the  ordinances.  This  is  the  only  ordination 
necessary  according  to  the  old  New  England  practice  and  principle, 
and  will  make  my  position  respectable  in  the  eyes  of  the  most 
bigoted.  A  silent  pursuit  of  the  right  will  in  the  end  bring  about 
every  good  man's  best  desires.  .  ,  . 

Feb.  14,  1850.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Father. 

...  I  lectured  at  Medford  last  night  (but  one)  on  Stonehenge. 
I  have  lectured  twelve  times  this  winter,  and  it  has  brought  me 
in  $70.    I  am  still  to  go  to  Worcester  once  or  twice. 

February  20.     Peter  Lesley  to  Mrs.  LYM.^N. 

I  am  told  that  Susie  wrote  you  a  few  days  ago  that  Mr.  [James 
Freeman]  Clarke  would  not  live.  He  is  however  decidedly  better, 
and  we  will  be  spared  the  pain  of  so  serious  a  loss.  I  know  few 
in  this  part  of  the  world  with  whom  I  can  less  easily  bear  to  part. 
We  sympathize  in  many  matters,  and  have  the  same  constitutional 
tendencies  towards  a  sceptical  eclecticism,  and  the  same  hopes  of 
a  good  time  coming. 

Wm.  Thayer,  you  will  be  pleased  to  learn,  is  told  by  Mr. 
Elliot  that  he  (Mr.  Elliot)  has  certain  books  to  publish,  and  will 
employ  him  (Wm.  Thayer)  next  summer  for  several  months,  in 
writing,  after  his  commencement  graduation.  I  lectured  yester- 
dav  at  Medford  with  great  pleasure,  being  kindly  received  by  all. 
And  last  night  here  in  Milton  on  a  new  subject,  the  Aboriginal 
settlement  of  Europe.  .  .  . 

The  William  Thayer  here  mentioned  was  brother  to  James 
B.  Thayer,  for  many  years  Royall  professor  of  law  at  Har- 
vard. Both  brothers  were  much  loved  by  my  father  and 
mother.  William  died,  still  young,  in  Egypt,  where  he  was 
for  several  years  consul-general. 

MrLTON,  March  i,  1850.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Father. 

Many  superstitious  people  will  rejoice  in  last  night's  snow- 
storm in  confident  anticipation  of  its  causing  a  lamb-like  exit  of 
the  month  now  just  commenced.    The  storm  caught  us  at  Joseph's 


i8so  MARRIAGE.    MILTON  LIFE  227 

in  Roxbury,  whither  we  went  on  Wednesday  last;  and  where 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  bringing  Susie  and  my  dear  friend  Cook 
face  to  face. 

I  find  at  Joseph's  the  library  of  Russell  Sturgis,  mostly  com- 
posed in  China.  For  two  days  I  have  been  hard  at  work  upon 
two  of  the  radicals  in  Medhurst's  Chinese  Dictionary,  and  have 
succeeded  in  exhuming  materials  by  which  I  can  finally  demon- 
strate some  very  troublesome  conjectures  of  mine  upon  certain 
things  relating  to  the  South  and  South  West  of  Asia  and  of  Europe. 
The  language  itself  is  of  the  most  curious  construction.  .  .  . 

I  have  hardly  left  room  to  say  that  Mr.  Ellis  of  Northampton 
has  lately  published  a  little  memoir  of  Susie's  uncle,  Judge  Howe, 
and  in  it  are  some  beautiful  notices  of  her  Father.  I  shall  send  it 
on  by  to-morrow's  mail  if  possible.  .  .  . 

Milton,  March  6,  1850.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Dr.  Frederick  Winsor. 

My  dear  WmsoR, — I  have  had  to  think  a  great  deal  about 
the  right  method  of  preaching,  and  have  found  myself  sometimes 
tossed  about  upon  a  sea  of  conjectures;  but  I  never  found  my 
preaching  itself  much  influenced  by  my  theories  of  the  what  and 
the  how.  Nor  do  I  think,  in  fine,  that  a  really  independent  and 
self-alive  man  can  alter,  to  any  great  extent,  the  directions  out 
which  his  teaching  will  run  itself,  nor  the  vehicles  it  shall  invent 
or  accept  for  itself.  One  who  thinks  by  rule,  can  preach  by  rule; 
one  who  submits  to  outward  law,  can  regulate  his  methods  by 
theoretic  formula;  but  he  who  accepts  truth  as  he  happens  to 
pass  it  by,  or  as  it  happens  to  pass  by  him,  cannot  say  as  to  his 
utterances  of  truths  so  received,  "I  shall  utter  them  so  and  so." 
The  free  thinker  is  not  his  own  master;  whatever  he  is  to  be,  he 
strives  not  to  become,  but  to  be;  and,  whatever  he  is  to  be,  he 
becomes,  not  of  himself,  but  by  destiny.  Therefore  he  becomes 
sometimes  one  thing  and  sometimes  another;  and  what  he  is, 
he  says;  what  he  becomes,  he  reveals;  he  is  his  own  logos;  only 
what  he  thinks,  he  knows;  only  what  he  knows,  he  says;  only 
what  he  says,  he  feels.  If  I  be  wholly  immersed  in  art,  I  speak 
only  poetry;  if  in  devotion,  I  preach  mysticism;  if  in  science, 
I  can  only  tell  and  try  to  explain.  To  be  full  of  beauty,  divine 
love  and  human  knowledge  all  at  once  and  in  true  proportions, 
is  to  be — at  any  rate  more  than  /  am  yet.  Find  such  a  propor- 
tion in  a  man,  and  the  world  will  assemble  to  listen  to  him;  strive 
to  be  such  a  soul,  and  you  will  be  the  preacher  of  preachers. 
Such  in  fact  was  our  Lord  Christ.  .  .  . 


228  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xi 

About  this  time  he  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Jesse  Tucker, 
deacon  of  the  First  Evangelical  Church,  Milton,  in  which 
he  says  that  he  should  be  glad  to  preach  for  the  Milton 
society  another  year,  provided  that  the  church  and  parish 
desire  the  same;  and,  secondly,  provided  that  the  church 
do,  before  the  opening  of  the  year  of  engagement, — i.e.,  before 
the  first  of  next  April,  or  before  the  recurrence  of  the  next 
communion  season — pass  a  resolution  to  the  following  or 
like  effect,  viz.: — • 

"Resolved,  that  we,  members  of  this  Evangelical  Church  in 
Milton,  do,  by  virtue  of  our  Christian  liberty  and  right,  select, 
appoint  and  ordain  our  brother  Peter  Lesley,  Junior,  to  do  for 
us,  in  his  place  of  teacher  and  preacher  of  the  gospel,  and  at  the 
proper  and  usual  times,  and  in  the  proper  and  usual  mode,  all 
that  is  necessary  to  lead  our  devotions,  both  ordinary  and  ex- 
traordinary; both  at  times  when  we  do  not  meet  for  the  breaking 
of  bread,  and  at  times  when  we  do,  and  also  at  times  when  we  pro- 
fess our  faith  in  Christ  by  the  baptism  of  adults  or  of  infants; 
— thus  lawfully  ordaining  and  making  him  hereby  our  minister 
in  all  these  services, — and  praying  for  God's  blessing." 

It  is  with  heartfelt  gratitude  and  pleasure  that  I  herewith 
acknowledge  my  obhgations  to  the  members  of  this  Church  and 
Parish  for  their  very  uniform  and  considerate  kindness  to  me 
and  mine;  and  pray  that,  whether  the  will  of  God  be  that  I  re- 
main for  a  longer  or  shorter  time  among  them,  or  be  called  to 
some  other  place  of  usefulness,  the  best  blessings  of  the  love  of 
God  in  Christ  may  always  and  abundantly  abide  with  them. 

I  remain,  dear  Sir,  with  the  sincerest  affection,  gratitude  and 
respect,  Your  brother  and  friend  in  the  Lord, 

J.  P.  Lesley. 

The  church  was  not  able  to  make  up  its  mind  to  defy 
the  Association  by  performing  the  simple  kind  of  ordination 
which  is  proposed  in  the  above  letter.  Therefore,  in  April, 
1850,  my  father  left  them,  and,  followed  by  a  portion  of  the 
congregation,  began  to  preach  in  the  Town  Hall.  It  was, 
I  believe,  intended  by  these  friends  to  build  another  meeting- 
house at  the  "Upper  Village,"  now  Mattapan.  But  this 
was  never  accomplished,  and  later  on,  when  my  father  had 


1850  MARRIAGE.     MILTON  LIFE  229 

left  Milton,  his  little  society  dissolved.  A  few  of  its  mem- 
bers returned  to  the  Orthodox  Church,  and  the  remainder 
joined  the  Unitarian  Church,  at  that  time  served  by  Rev. 
Dr.  Morison,  who  remained  many  years  its  honored  pastor. 

March  23,  1850.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Father. 

.  .  .  Please  forward  the  enclosed  appendix  to  my  last  letter  to 
Allen,  to  him.  I  have  opened  a  new  country  to  the  Ethnologists. 
Our  science  of  the  distribution  of  the  races  and  the  relationships 
of  language  must  be  put  upon  a  new  basis.  [This  sounds  like 
vast  conceit, — it  is  really  only  enthusiasm.] 

I  went  down  to  Salem  last  Saturday,  and  spent  Sunday  with 
my  good  friends  the  Pickerings  and  Stones,  and  Judge  White. 
The  old  man's  great  lingual  library  is  scattered  to  the  winds; 
but  the  old  house,  built  by  his  lineal  ancestors  of  the  sixth  and 
seventh  remove  in  165 1,  with  their  own  good  adze  and  hammer, 
stands  as  it  always  stood,  surrounded  by  its  grounds,  and  little 
altered  by  a  few  new  eaves  and  windows.  Immense  rooms, 
low  enough  to  touch  the  great  brown  timbers  that  support  the 
ceiling,  and  oddly  partitioned  off  from  one  another  with  a  mighty 
central  stack  of  chimneys,  open  to  receive  all  friends.  Old  family 
portraits  grace  the  walls,  and  the  silence  of  the  quaint,  old,  un- 
paved  city,  makes  the  home  most  beautiful. 

April  3,  1850.    To  HIS  Father. 

...  I  have  often  thought  of  you  of  late,  but  it  has  been  a  dis- 
tracted month.*  The  end  of  the  year  came  round  last  Sunday. 
The  church  is  a  close  corporation,  and  the  parish  has  no  voice 
in  matters.  They  wished  me  to  stay  on  the  old  conditions,  but 
I  said  that  was  impossible.  So  they  did  not  vote  to  re-elect  me. 
A  Church  is  to  be  formed  out  of  the  old,  leaving  it  very  poorly 
furnished  I  fear,  and  a  new  house  built  here  at  the  Upper  Mills. . . . 

April  29,  1850.    To  HIS  Father. 

. .  .  Last  Monday  I  went  out  of  the  house  for  the  first  time,  and 
was  very  weak,  but  quite  well.  I  have  now  my  usual  strength. 
...  If  the  student's  feelings  are  sharpened  to  the  keenest  of  all 

*  During  this  spring  my  mother  was  very  ill,  at  the  point  of  death  for 
many  weeks.  My  father  also  seems  to  have  had  a  short  but  severe  illness, 
after  which  he  was  persuaded  to  go  southward  for  change  of  scene  and  air, 
my  mother  being  temporarily  better. 


230  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xi 

edges,  happily  his  studies  are  the  surest  and  safest  of  all  reliefs. 
Hand  me  an  edition  of  Dupuis'  "  Origine  des  Cultes,"  and  I  am  no 
longer  a  person,  but  an  impassible  idea.  Set  me  down  to  explore 
the  worship  of  the  Lion  or  the  Crocodile,  with  the  Edinburgh  and 
Penny  Cyclopedias  on  one  side,  and  Malcolm,  Kitto,  Hyde  and 
Anthon  on  the  other,  and  I  belong  no  longer  to  the  present,  and 
escape  from  the  dominions  of  accident,  and  am  for  the  time  being 
a  disembodied  spirit,  among  the  disembodied  spirits  of  every  age 
and  clime.  .  .  . 

New  York,  April  30,  1850.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wipe. 

I  missed  the  cars  yesterday  by  our  being  detained  between 
New  Haven  and  New  York, — a  beautiful  road.  Trumbull  I 
found  was  in  Phil'a.  I  went  up  and  took  tea  with  Isaac  [T. 
Hopper]  and  all  the  rest  of  yom*  lovers,  and  then  went  with  John, 
Rosa  and  her  sister  Sarah  [Hopper],  Mrs.  Silsbee  and  Mrs. 
Appleton  to  the  opera,  and  shall  never  go  again.  The  minutes 
of  good  music  cannot  atone  for  three  hours  of  bombast  nonsense, 
and  the  degradation  of  music  and  man's  imagination  to  a  lower 
level  than  I  ever  believed  it  possible. 


After  a  few  days  with  his  father,  a  short  stop  at  New 
Castle,  Del.,  to  see  his  brother  Allen,  he  went  to  Washing- 
ton:— 

Washington,  May  8.    To  his  Wife. 

The  road  to  Baltimore  is  not  interesting,  and  that  to  Wash- 
ington is  much  like  that  from  Providence  to  Boston; ...  I  amused 
myself  with  making  out  an  immensely  Arkite  analysis  of  the 
Abyssinian  calendar;  and  with  the  half  school-boy  half  senatorial 
conversation  of  one  Mr.  Wise.  He  kindly  pointed  out  to  me 
Lord  Baltimore's  descendant's  mansion,  a  man  c[uite  worthy 
every  way  of  his  illustrious  ancestor.  Also  the  bridge  at  Bladens- 
burg,  over  which  the  British  charged  upon  the  cowardly  militia, 
scattering  them  in  all  directions;  and  the  house  that  General 
Washington  built  for  himself  near  the  Capitol  to  encourage  the 
occupation  of  the  district;  and  gave  me  direction  to  the  House 
in  which  I  am  now  writing — the  National;  and  where  I  find  my 
friend  Dr.  James  Rogers.  He  tells  me  that  Prof.  Bache  holds 
a  levee  to-night  and  [Joseph]  Henry  and  his  brother  Henry 
[Rogers]  will  be  there.  .  .  . 


i8so  MARRIAGE.    MILTON  LIFE  231 

MoRVAN,  NEAR  New  Castle,  May  13,  1850.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  RoBsms. 

...  I  spent  part  of  a  day  and  night  in  Baltimore,  but  saw 
nothing  new,  except  two  meals  and  a  plate  of  oysters,  a  fresh  cold 
bed-room,  and  a  damp  slow  steamboat,  in  which  we  puffed  up  the 
bay  to  Frenchtown,  a  city  of  one  house  and  a  horse-shed  attached. 
It  rained  all  the  voyage,  but  I  rejoiced  in  the  merry  companion- 
ship of  the  old  son  of  Elisha  Tyson,  the  celebrated  philanthropist 
of  Baltimore.  The  old  son  said  his  age  was  seventy-three.  His 
cousin,  a  Quakerish  hardware  merchant,  and  a  fimny  chap, 
gave  me  all  sorts  of  addenda  memorabilia  to  the  old  son's  life  and 
conversation. 

But  I  breathe  freely  now  that  I  am  (almost)  off  this  accursed 
slave  soil,  and  out  of  that  dank  and  damnable  atmosphere.  I 
could  almost  feel  the  mildew  it  deposited  on  all  things.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  May  14,  1850.    To  the  Same. 

...  I  am  this  minute  arrived  from  below,  "  ah  inferno,  inferio- 
ribus,  infimis — si  non  infimissimis"  as  either  Dante's  or  Maro 
Virgil's  hero  would  say,  that  is  from  the  pits  of  the  oppressor 
(cries  of  hear,  hear,  from  the  W.  L.  G.),  as  happy  and  sound  in 
wind  and  limb  as  a  thoroughbred  from  the  Marquis  of  Water- 
bury's  stud.  Four  letters, — I  read  three  which  were  your  good 
gifts,  backwards;  not  Hebrew-wise,  but  last  first,  according  to 
a  higher  prophecy.  .  .  . 

But  he  returned  hastily  to  Milton  to  find  his  wife  at 
death's  door,  and  the  following  weeks  were  spent  in  alternat- 
ing despair  and  hope.  He  writes  to  his  father  with  an  almost 
broken  heart,  yet  with  a  patient  and  uplifted  spirit.  As 
soon  as  the  crisis  was  over,  and  Susan's  recovery  assured, 
he  fell  to  work  again, — writes  of  copying  "Bache's  Har- 
bor map."  He  expresses  the  most  heartfelt  gratitude  to 
the  good  doctor:  "He  will  receive  nothing  but  my  lifelong 
gratitude.  And  as  for  the  nurse,  the  quietest,  kindest, 
most  cheerful,  faithful,  inventive  woman  that  ever  lived, 
she  has  saved  Susie's  life  almost  by  the  loss  of  her  own; 
I  feel  as  if  I  could  give  her  all  the  little  that  I  owned  in  the 
world,  or  could  earn  for  years." 


232  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xi 

Milton,  June  5,  1S50.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Father. 

The  people  here  wish  for  some  ceremony  like  an  ordination, 
and  I  shall  gratify  them  next  Sunday  week.  For  the  present  I  have 
settled  my  mind  to  my  regular  pastoral  duties  for  this  summer. 

June  21,  1850.    To  HIS  Father. 

Last  Sunday  morning  the  people  had  their  lay  ordination 
service,  which  was  simple  contract  in  public  between  me  and  them 
for  our  mutual  good  order  in  all  the  public  services  of  religion. 
I  preached  a  sermon  on  the  organization  of  the  church;  and  two 
members  of  the  church,  in  turn,  read  papers,  recounting  in  brief 
our  church  history,  and  announcing  our  church  creed.  One  of 
them  requested  the  church  as  a  whole  to  rise  and  signify  their 
will  respecting  my  ordination  to  be  their  preacher;  the  other 
requested  the  communicants  to  do  the  same  as  to  my  leading  them 
in  the  sacraments.  All  express  themselves  pleased  with  the  ser- 
vice and  satisfied.  The  house  was  quite  full.  A  number  came 
from  a  distance.  This  sets  the  matter  at  rest,  for  even  the  Editors 
of  the  Puritan  dare  not  deny  that  this  is  the  very  order  of  the 
Puritans  down  to  about  the  year  1660  or  70;  since  which  time 
only  one  such  has  occurred  (that  is,  about  seventy  years  ago) 
in  any  orthodox  church;  a  number  have  occurred  among  the 
Unitarians.  .  .  . 

During  August  my  mother  was  moved  to  Rainsford 
Island,  where  she  remained  several  weeks,  and  rapidly  gained 
health  and  strength.  My  father  went  back  and  forth  from 
Milton  to  the  island,  and  was  very  much  occupied  with  some 
maps  of  the  Shamokin  Basin,  which  he  was  preparing  for 
Mr.  Rogers.  He  writes  to  his  father  in  a  letter  of  August 
19  of  the  impossibility  of  his  becoming  a  Unitarian,  as  fol- 
lows : — 

I  never  come  into  close  contact  with  Unitarians,  but  I  am 
chilled  and  repelled;  and  I  am  returning  daily  to  the  mysticism 
of  my  childhood.  .  .  .  Neander  is  just  dead.  I  feel  as  if  the  sun 
were  put  out  in  heaven.  He  was  the  greatest  man  of  our  day; 
and  as  good  as  the  best.  .  .  . 

Milton,  Oct.  2,  1850.     To  his  Father. 

.  .  .  This  turns  my  thoughts  to  a  theme  of  real  horror  to 
many  here,  indeed  I  trust  to  all  good  people  everywhere,  I  mean  of 


1850  MARRIAGE.     MILTON  LIFE  233 

course  this  new  and  dreadful  law  for  returning  the  slaves.  The 
newspapers  will  give  you  many  details  of  the  excitement  it  has 
produced  everywhere,  and  the  only  mitigation  of  the  horror  that 
all  feel  comes  from  the  hope  that,  as  Satan  always  overreaches 
his  own  ends,  the  very  enormity  of  the  thing  will  produce  a  speedy 
repeal.  ... 

I  find  a  long  lette.  to  his  friend  James  Freeman  Clarke  at 

Meadville,  of  November  3,  1850, — a  letter-press  copy, — of 
which  I  give  the  greater  part:^ 

.  . .  When  distinguished  men  retire  to  the  hills  and  lakes  much 
is  expected  of  them;  at  least  a  Dom  Daniel  Thalaba,  a  Prelude  or 
a  Traveller,  a  Vicar  of  Wakefield  or  an  essay  on  Man.  Tell  me 
what  you  are  about,  what  you  propose  to  do;  let  me  into  some 
of  the  secrets  of  your  present  life:  you  will  find  nothing  more 
amusing  I  assure  you,  at  least  it  is  to  my  interest  to  persuade  you 
to  think  so.  You  have,  I  suspect,  left  the  world  of  books  behind 
you,  and  ramble  like  a  moth  now  between  the  leaves  of  the  great 
book  of  the  World,  therefore,  ceasing  to  collate  and  criticise, 
you  must  needs  begin  to  discover  and  create.  We  spirits  are 
like  cats  that  fall  on  their  feet  from  whatever  windows  of  heaven 
they  may  be  thrown.  That's  a  great  comfort,  in  this  "Vale  of 
tears."  .  .  .  You  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that  Susan  is  quite  well 
again  and  has  just  made  me  a  waistcoat.  That  is,  I  suppose, 
a  coat  to  be  wasted,  as  all  my  garments  are,  unaccountably  fast. 
I  wish  we  could  go  back  to  the  good  old  time  when  coats  of  mail 
were  worn.  We  have  just  been  reading  Irving's  playful  life  of 
Goldsmith  and  have  had  many  a  hearty  laugh  over  his  "  bloom- 
colored  suit  of  breeches"  and  crinison  over-cloak;  his  blue  velvet 
dancing  dress,  etc.,  etc.  The  poor  fellow  thought  himself  so 
ugly  that  even  the  radiant  beauty  of  his  soul  he  did  not  dare  to 
trust  with  the  duty  of  making  him  acceptable  or  rather  pardon- 
able to  the  World.  Nobody  is  perfect.  It's  a  pity  however 
that  the  homely  good  can't  forget  their  noses.  The  ugliest  man 
almost  I  ever  knew  was  I  think  one  of  the  very  handsomest. 

I  have  had  a  crowd  of  projects  thronging  my  brain  of  late. 
I  am  translating  (half  and  half  paraphrasing  and  condensing) 
Hengstenberg's  two-volume  treatise  on  the  "Authenticity  of  the 
Pentateuch."  I  have  been  reading  Newman's  books,  his  "Hebrew 
Monarchy"  and  "Phases  of  Faith,"  followed  by  Norton's  "  Gene- 
sis," and  want  to  know  what  the  curious  erudition  of  the  great 


634  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xi 

German  bigot  will  make  out  in  favor  of  the  antiquity  of  those 
strange  old  scriptures.  I  wish  to  publish  it  in  the  Bib.  Sacra,  and 
have  written  Parke  to  that  effect. 

Buddington  has  returned  from  Europe,  and  put  into  my 
hands  Sherer's  two  letters  on  Inspiration,  the  first  one  of  which 
to  D'Aubigne,  on  resigning  his  chair,  made  such  a  stir.  With 
this  come  two  attacks  upon  the  man,  one  by  Darby,  the  Cele- 
brated Irvinite,  who  opens  by  saying  that  he  never  read  so  bad 
a  book,  etc.  Susie  and  I  amuse  ourselves  in  the  evenings  trans- 
lating these  letters,  which  I  shall  give  to  Morison  to  print  if  he 
will.  I  had  to  write  a  sermon  against  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law 
last  Sunday  and  then  had  to  allow  it  to  be  published  in  the  Lib- 
erator and  Chronotype,  which  by  the  by,  is  on  its  legs  again.  I 
wish  Wright  could  use  better  English  in  better  taste.  We  are 
terribly  tossed  about,  like  very  Sanchos,  in  the  blanket  of  this 
law,  by  the  Southerners. 

Everybody  in  Boston  is  armed  in  one  way  or  another,  if 
not  with  dirks  and  pistols,  at  least  with  scripture  and  indigna- 
tion. A  hundred  extra  fugitives  have  already  entered  the  City 
as  a  place  of  refuge.  Tell  me  how  matters  go  in  Western  Penn- 
sylvania. 

I  said  I  had  a  hundred  projects  in  my  brain,  and  I  have, — 
I  want  to  write  a  poem  (cries  of  hear!  hear!  from  the  left)  on 
Fanaticism.  I  should  like  to  choose  an  AboHtionist  for  hero, 
make  him  a  pure,  consistent,  noble,  intelligent,  eloquent  fellow, 
hunted  and  slain  in  Boston  in  the  year  1830  or  thereabouts. 
Why  should  we  always  go  upon  matter  1800  years  old? 

I  have  another  crotchet.  I  would  like — I  mean  some  day 
to  collect  under  a  score  or  two  of  heads  the  sayings  of  the  wisest 
men  of  the  East  and  old,  and  collate  them  with  the  scriptures. 
For  instance  under  Faith,  all  that  can  be  found  from  Confucius, 
Mencius,  Zeno,  Plato,  Seneca,  and  the  Hebrews, — and  what 
Christ  and  the  Apostles  have  taught  concerning  Faith.  And  so 
on  with  the  subjects  of  the  ten  commandments,  and  the  cardinal 
maxims  of  universal  and  particular  creeds.  Why  should  we 
not  see  clearly  what  is  peculiar  to  Judea,  and  what  common 
to  man? 

I  want  to  write  a  novel.  What  shall  it  be  about?  Oh  for 
the  hands  of  Briareus  and  the  heads  of  Hydra!  I  am  at  work  on 
the  map  of  Virginia  which  will  occupy  me  all  winter;  and  I  am 
just  finishing  my  suite  of  pictures  to  illustrate  my  lecture  on 
Caves.  .  .  , 


1850  MARRIAGE.    MILTON  LIFE  235 

He  had  been  asked  to  preach  as  candidate  by  a  society 
wishing  a  man  "free  from  denominational  shackles,"  liberal, 
with  fixed  opinions  of  his  own  of  the  orthodox  type,  and  yet 
one  willing  to  exchange  now  and  then  with  the  Unitarian 
clergymen  around. 

Dec.  16,  1850.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Father. 

New  England  is  full  of  parishes  ripe  for  such  a  project  as 
this,  and  in  ten  or  twelve  years  will  be  full  of  just  such  Union  Soci- 
eties, and  of  Ministers  of  a  new  stamp,  undogmatic,  inquiring, 
devotional,  charitable,  reformers,  intolerant  of  the  old  theologi- 
cal intolerance,  and  yet  as  much  averse  to  the  cold-blooded  moral- 
ism  of  the  Unitarian  reaction.  The  mutual  influence  of  the  two 
great  factions  of  New  England  religious  people,  the  orthodox 
and  the  Unitarian,  upon  each  other,  has  been  the  greatest  of 
blessings  to  the  country.  The  Orthodox  will  bequeath  to  the 
next  generation  their  devotion,  zeal  and  earnestness  of  purpose, 
and  the  Unitarians  will  have  established  the  reforms  on  an  intel- 
lectual basis;  the  two  elements  combined  will  carry  our  whole 
country  forward  a  great  step.  You  would  be  surprised  to  see 
how  your  religious  side  would  lean  towards  the  orthodox  people 
of  New  England  if  you  lived  here,  while  your  sentiment  of  jus- 
tice and  benevolence  and  your  intellectual  powers  would  be 
listed  in  favor  of  the  others.  Everybody  feels  the  difference  and 
owns  the  power  of  both.  .  .  . 

Milton,  Dec.  20,  1850.    To  his  Father. 

o .  .  I  am  at  work  on  the  Virginia  Map,  and  on  some  distemper 
scenes  to  illustrate  my  Cave  lecture.  We  had  tickets  to  a  con- 
cert given  us,  and  went,  but  the  heat,  crowd  and  light  made 
Susan's  head  ache,  and  I  was  far  from  having  my  expectations  in 
all  points  realized.  She  [Jenny  Lind]  is  an  angel,  that  is  true, 
and  I  shall  always  love  to  remember  having  seen  and  heard  her. 
And  her  singing  is  the  most  wonderful  imaginable;  but  her  voice 
is  not  first-rate  and  she  makes  a  good  deal  of  effort  sometimes. 
She  has  no  passion,  but  a  singular  and  irresistible  earnestness  and 
goodness.  Her  character  seems  perfection  itself,  and  her  arch- 
ness, simplicity  and  unconsciousness  captivate  all.  Everybody 
wants  to  hug  and  kiss  her.  I  entreat  you  to  go  once,  at  any 
price,  and  rather  to  see  than  to  hear  her.  If  you  could  take 
Aunt  Hall,  it  would  make  me  very  happy.  You  won't  wish  to 
go  again,  but  you  will  never  regret  going  once  at  any  price.  .  .  . 


236  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xi 

Milton,  Jan.  2,  185 1.    To  his  Father. 

Where  we  are  now  *  the  number  of  the  children  on  the  hill 
is  a  happy  incident,  being  well  bred  and  full  of  frolic.  They 
enjoy  themselves  more  than  any  children  I  ever  saw,  for  the  So- 
ciety on  the  Hill  has  gradually  been  collected  about  one  or  two 
original  wealthy  families,  and  has  a  certain  family  character. 
We  meet  with  the  whole  troupes  and  companies  of  children  wher- 
ever we  go  out  to  visit,  and  they  have  their  own  plays  and  even- 
ing parties,  and  whatever  in  the  way  of  enjoyment  as  well  as  in- 
struction they  require.  .  .  .  My  last  week's  geological  lecture  was 
very  satisfactory  to  me.  .  .  . 

Milton.  Jaw.  26,  185 1.    To  his  Father. 

.  .  .  Our  home  and  the  air  about  us  and  our  habits  of  life  are 
all  that  we  could  wish,  and  only  leave  room  for  an  apprehension 
that  they  may  not  be  long  bestowed  upon  us.  We  shall  never  be 
happier  or  in  a  better  position  for  enjoying  life  than  we  are  now, 
unless  in  such  a  home  we  may  hope  at  some  distant  time  to  have 
you  with  us.  .  .  . 

My  business  and  my  sickness  have  prevented  me  from  going 
into  town  for  the  past  month,  since  my  lecture  at  Concord,  and 
pleasant  visit  to  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  the  great  Impracticable. 
Next  week  I  am  invited  to  lecture  at  Great  Falls  in  New  Hamp- 
shire. Two  of  my  Geological  Course  in  Milton  have  gone  off 
very  successfully,  and  the  third  will  occupy  me  next  Wednesday 
night.  .  .  . 

Feb.  25,  185 1.    To  HIS  Father. 

.  .  .  The  month  has  been  a  remarkably  agreeable  one  in  point 
of  weather.  But  the  storms  that  have  raged  in  the  communities 
of  Eastern  New  England,  about  these  centre-points  of  tyranny, 
the  so-called  Courts  of  the  U.S.  Fugitive  Commissioners,  have 
caused  our  moral  skies  to  be  anything  but  clear.  What  with 
the  selfish  pro-slavery  cotton  merchants,  with  their  unlimited 
command  of  the  means  of  bribery  and  intimidation,  and  what 

with  the  ConserA^ative  Tories  of  the , ,  and  other  families, 

connected  often  by  marriage  with  the  slaveocracy  of  the  South, — 
and  what  with  the  enormous  preponderance  of  foreign  and 
Irish  population  of  late  years  over  the  native  New  England 
inhabitants,  justice  is  denied  and  dishonored,  and  righteousness 
is  trodden  down  in  the  streets.     How  long  the  tyranny  with  the 

*  They  had  moved  to  the  house  on  Milton  Hill. 


i8si  MARRIAGE.     MILTON   LIFE  237 

long  arm,  which  sits  in  Washington,  and  is  worked  by  the  wire 
pullers  further  South,  will  be  permitted  to  grapple  in  the  bowels 
of  liberty  and  conscience  here,  God  alone  knows.  I  am  ashamed 
of  my  American  birth,  and  more  shocked  than  grieved  to  find 
that  in  New  England,  the  very  sanctum  and  last  refuge  of  lib- 
erty, the  poor  fugitive  is  as  unsafe  as  elsewhere.  I  send  you 
the  letter  of  the  son,  only  son  and  worthy  scion,  of  the  great 
man  who  is  gone  before  the  evil  came,  John  Q.  Adams.  It  will 
repay  your  attentive  perusal  and  please  you  much.  ,  .  . 

Milton,  March  23,  185 1.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  brother  Allen. 

...  I  wish  to  consult  you  about  something  else.  John  Forbes 
wishes  me  to  undertake  a  foreign  correspondence  with  the  Lon- 
don Times  or  Chronicle,  and  supply  them  with  weekly  or  fort- 
nightly matter  illustrative  of  men  and  events  in  America.  I 
can't.  I  am  worn  out  and  good  for  nothing.  But  if  you  will 
undertake  it  I  will  go  shares  with  you  in  the  business.*  ...  I 
am  under  electrical  treatment  in  Boston  for  my  eyes  which 
have  been  put  out  by  drawing,  etc. — It  works  wonders — I  mean 
the  electro-gal vano -magneto  manipulations.  .  .  .  The  whole  coun- 
try here  is  moved  to  its  foundations  by  the  Fugitive  Slave 
Law.  .  .  .  The  poor  wretches  are  hid  away  in  garrets  and 
cellars,  and  starving  because  afraid  to  work.  The  very  law 
and  measures  meant  to  confirm  the  Union,  will  assuredly  dis- 
solve it.  We  are  all  trembling  upon  the  eve  of  an  eruption, 
over  a  volcano  just  ready  to  break  out.  I  never  knew  such  a 
state  of  public  feeling,  so  deep,  so  still,  so  fierce,  so  expectant. 

*  Allen  was  at  this  time  either  in  England  or  about  to  start  for  England . 


CHAPTER  XII 

Summer  of  185  i  in  Pottsville 

In  May,  1851,  my  father  took  his  wife  for  her  first  visit 
to  his  family  in  Philadelphia.  She  became  at  once  devoted 
to  her  father-in-law.  Their  opportunities  to  meet  were 
never  frequent,  but  the  warmest  sympathy  subsisted  between 
them,  and  she  always  spoke  of  him  with  deep  affection. 

After  a  short  visit  in  Philadelphia  and  several  weeks 
spent  among  her  relatives  in  Brooklyn  and  on  the  Hudson, 
she  returned  to  Milton,  where  my  father  joined  her  in  July. 
Later  in  the  season,  however,  he  went  back  to  the  coal 
regions,  and  in  September  she  joined  him  there,  where  he 
was  again  engaged  with  Rogers  in  a  geological  survey,  and 
where  were  gathered  also  several  other  men  of  science.  It 
was  for  her  an  entirely  new  experience,  and  one  which  she 
greatly  enjoyed.  I  think  it  was  the  only  time  in  her  life 
when  she  was  able  to  be  near  her  husband  when  he  was 
engaged  in  field  work,  for  the  later  cares  of  married  life 
prevented  her  ever  again  accompanying  him  in  his  geological 
trips.  Her  letters  give  a  pleasant  impression  of  the  little 
group  assembled  in  the  dingy  town,  busied  with  the  scien- 
tific interests  which  opened  a  new  world  of  thought  to  her, 
and  which  she  entered  into  with  sympathy,  if  not  with  much 
understanding  of  the  technique  of  their  conversation.  In 
the  philosophic  side  of  their  thought,  and  in  the  generaliza- 
tions of  science,  she  always  took  great  interest  and  delight. 

Pottsville,  May  6,  185 1.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

I  wish  you  every  happiness.  We  arrived  an  hour  late,  and 
Shaefer  met  me  at  the  Hotel  at  which  you  can  live  in  the  fall 
with  me,  if  you  please,  with  great  comfort,  as  then  my  head- 
quarters will  be  here.  I  go  this  noon  to  Mt.  Carmel,  Northum- 
berland Co.,  fifteen  miles  hence,  and  immediately  take  stage 
to  Shamokin    to  sketch  the  gap.    The  storm   has  overlaid  the 

238 


1851  SUMMER  IN  POTTSVILLE  239 

Mts.  with  five  inches  of  snow.  All  the  land  is  one  complicated 
puddle.  My  first  purchase  is  a  pair  of  Sancho-Panza  boots — 
like  Father's.  It  was  a  most  melancholy  ride  yesterday  slowly 
up  from  spring  and  paradise  to  winter  and  desolation;  every- 
thing seemed  dead  or  dying.  .  .  . 

Mount  Caemel,  May  8,  1851.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  was  a  tremendous  tax  upon  my  young  enthu- 
siasm. We  started  about  7  o'clock  on  foot,  for  a  certain  coal 
drift  two  miles  east  of  the  house.  How  beautiful  were  all  things! 
The  forest  was  in  the  happiest  mood,  the  air  exquisite,  the  wild 
cherry,  June  berry  and  dogwood  in  full  blossoms,  and  arbutus 
and  purple  violets  peeped  innumerable  from  the  leaves.  All 
sorts  of  happy  little  brooks  danced  down  the  mountain  side, 
and  our  party  of  five,  with  slouched  hats  and  surveying  gear, 
moved  on  along  the  old  grass  wood  road  in  the  most  picturesque 
manner.  .  .  .  Presently  I  found  myself  in  the  forest  alone  with 
the  flowers  and  birds,  and  my  memories  of  former  years.  .  .  . 

Mount  Carmel,  May  9,  1851.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  feel  very  tired,  but  the  recollections  of  the  stillness 
of  the  Mountain  Summit — oh,  how  often  have  I  enjoyed  it  in 
past  years!  I  am  a  Tartar,  Turk,  or  TuARick  by  every 
right,  you  see,  a  child  of  the  mountain  and  the  woods, — of  the 
millions  of  fresh  Houstonias  which  have  all  peeped  out  since 
yesterday, — of  the  sudden  blow  of  insect  life,  on  feet  and  wing — 
of  the  glorious  views  I  obtained  from  a  few  fine  bench  promon- 
tories looking  out  over  clearings  to  the  North  West — of  the  deli- 
cious breath  of  the  air,  a  very  zephyr  in  quiet  sweetness.  .  .  . 
Then  the  sense  of  returning  vigor,  the  fresh  feel  in  my  bones 
and  vitals,  the  relief  which  my  brain  experiences,  are  unspeak- 
able— you  must  imagine  them  and  rejoice  with  me.  .  .  . 

Mount  Carmel,  May  11,  185 1.    To  his  Wipe. 

...  I  spent  the  whole  of  yesterday  over  the  drafting  table,  plot- 
ting lines  and  mapping  out  the  Valley.  .  .  .  To-day  I  have  iDeen 
sitting  in  the  quiet  room  all  alone,  all  day  long,  in  the  rocking- 
chair,  reading  all  sorts  of  things,  with  an  intense  rehsh  of  lib- 
erty I  cannot  describe.  Stuart's  book  on  the  Old  Testament 
chiefly.  Also  extracts  from  the  finest  orations  of  ancient  and 
modem  days.  .  .  . 


240  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xii 

May  12,  185 1.    To  his  Wife. 

I  wish  you  knew  my  Shaefer,  he  is  a  jewel,  a  religious,  strong- 
minded,  gentle-hearted,  noble  fellow.  ...  It  is  good  to  be  with 
him,  and  it  reminds  me  of  so  many  dear  good  words  of  yours.  .  .  . 
Oh,  the  grandeur  and  awful  beauty  of  Goodness  in  its  simplicity! 
I  would  lather  be  a  good  man  than  the  wisest  of  sages,  the  most 
brilliant  of  orators, — I  cannot  speak  of  the  lesser  fortunes  of  fame, 
power  and  wealth.  But  I  would  a  thousand  times  rather  be  good 
than  learned. 

Peter  Shaefer  became  a  lifelong  friend.  In  later  years 
he  was  always  spoken  of  in  our  household  as  Shaferlein, 
a  suggestive  term  of  endearment.  When  he  died,  my  father 
was  chosen  by  the  American  Philosophical  Society,  of  which 
they  were  fellow-members,  to  prepare  an  obituary  of  his 
friend. 

Thompson's,  May  29,  1851. 

We  have  just  had  the  monotony  of  Country  life  broken  in 
that  pleasant  way,  by  the  passage  of  the  stage  and  the  arrival  of 
friends.  Desor*  and  Rogers  stopped  and  had  a  chat  with  us  and 
half  persuaded  me  to  pack  up  and  go  along  with  them  to  Shamo- 
kin,  but  I  must  once  more  cross  the  Green  Ridge  with  Patrick. 
Shaefer  went  promising  to  hunt  out  good  quarters  for  me,  and 
here  I  am  alone.  How  still  it  is!  Nothing  but  the  patter  of  the 
eaves-droppings  on  the  doorstep,  and  the  shrill  of  the  tree-frogs 
and  locusts  to  be  heard.  It  has  been  a  day  of  adventure  once 
more.  .  .  .  The  thunder-gust  of  the  night  had  not  improved  the  air; 
it  was  very  sultry;  it  had  however  wet  the  bushes  and  the  party  did 
not  take  the  road  until  late.  I  was  occupied  until  after  dinner 
with  my  scale  and  protractor,  and  then,  half  undressing,  sallied 
forth  with  Patrick.  Turning  aside  at  the  first  left-hand  wood 
road,  we  were  soon  behind  a  ridge,  on  a  great  fiat,  lost  in  the 
underbrush,  plunging  among  morasses,  tearing  our  way  through 
vines,  running  along  fallen  trees,  hunting  out  old  cow-paths  anx- 
iously, taking  obscure  sights  over  the  bushes  at  nothing,  and  sweat- 
ing until  every  thread  was  a  thread  of  fluent  exercise.  Presently 
we  emerged  upon  an  ancient  clearing,  now  grown  up  like  an 
English  park,  but  in  clumps  of  evergreen.  Here  through  green 
aisles,  a  perfect  paradise,  the  deer  are  frequently  seen,  and  often 

*  fidouard  Desor,  of  Neuchatel,  Switzerland,  eminent  geologist. 


i85i  SUMMER   IN   POTTSVILLE  241 

quietly  feeding  with  the  cows,  who  know  the  place  and  resort  to 
it  from  a  distance.  A  road  once  used  to  haul  out  coal  skirted 
one  end  of  it,  and  on  this  road  at  a  great  distance  to  the  North- 
ward were  the  coal  openings  which  I  was  searching  for.  ...  I 
kept  on  drafting  until  tea  time,  and  then  the  old  woman  came 
and  sat  down  with  us,  for  a  rarity.  She  had  been  out  in  the  broil- 
ing sun,  shearing  the  few  sheep  which  her  husband  keeps.  She 
toils  the  whole  year  through  with  unabated  cheerfulness,  talking 
without  intermission,  now  in  English,  then  in  Dutch,  and  both 
with  a  most  amusing  brogue  and  rare  simplicity.  .  .  . 

The  conversation  ran  upon  witches  and  sorcery;  "I  don't  know 
what  to  think  about  that,"  said  she.  "Dere  is  an  olt  man  ofer 
in  Mahony,  what  kin  brauchen  as  tay  kail  it."  I  pricked  up  my 
ears,  of  course,  and  asked  all  about  it.  But  all  they  could  tell  me 
was  that  the  old  Germans  say  that  when  a  man  is  bitten  by  a 
snake  or  is  otherwise  diseased,  there  are  some  people  who  profess 
to  "branch"  them  with  a  powwow;  but  they  always  employ  con- 
jointly with  the  powwow  some  herbs  which  they  go  out  and  gather 
in  the  woods.  Especially  one  "dragon's  blood."  "Brauchen," 
said  I,  "means  in  German  to  need,  or  use;  "Yes,"  said  she, 
"but  it  means  also  Hexerei"  (i.e.  witchcraft).  "It  means  in 
Hebrew  to  bless '^  (Baruch),  said  I.  "Ah!  can  you  talk  Hebrew?" 
said  she.  "What  a  joy,"  she  continued,  "it  must  be  to  a  person 
to  talk  both  German  and  English  too!"  The  "old  Mahanoy" 
(Valley)  to  the  South  of  this  is  famous  for  the  superstition  of  its 
inhabitants,  who  are  indeed  shut  out  by  long  unbroken  mountains 
from  the  civilization  of  the  open  country.  It  is  the  home  of  many 
a  rare  old  Arkism,  I  will  warrant. 

We  talked  of  land  warrants,  of  the  difficulty  of  finding  old 
lines.  "Now  there  is  Indian  Creek  Valley,"  said  Shaefer  to  old 
Thompson,  who  had  come  in  and  sat  down  to  his  supper. — "  One 
day  I  went  over  to  look  up  an  ancient  tract  there.  We  were  out 
three  days,  would  you  believe  it,  without  finding  a  single  line  tree 
or  mark  of  any  kind.  We  hunted  the  whole  Valley  through,  and 
ran  all  the  adjacent  main  lines,  but  not  a  stump  or  a  stone  could 
we  find.  The  agent  of  the  Philadelphia  owner  was  with  us,  and 
fortunately  was  a  man  of  great  resolution.  He  insisted  on  trying 
another  day.  'Now,'  said  he,  'my  men,  I  will  give  a  dollar  to 
the  first  fellow  who  finds  a  line  tree.'  We  were  scattered  all  over 
the  woods,  but  we  got  together  again  at  noon,  and  gave  it  up;  but 
he  insisted  on  finishing  the  day;  'now,'  said  he,  'I  will  give  five 
dollars  to  the  first  man  who  finds  a  line  tree."  We  all  set  to 
work  again   hard.     And  just  about  four  o'clock  I  was  going 


242  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xn 

through  a  beautiful  oak  grove, — they  call  it  the  Fairy's  Dance, 
for  it  is  quite  free  from  underbrush,  and  covered  only  with  soft 
moss  and  grand  old  white  oak-trees, — I  thought  I  saw  a  pine-tree 
marked.  I  made  for  it,  I  tell  you,  and  saw  it  had  been  blazed. 
If  it  was  a  line  tree  it  should  be  blazed  on  both  sides;  I  popped 
round  the  other,  and  there  it  was  blazed  also,  and  right  in  line. 
It  was  the  first  sign  of  a  survey  we  had  seen  yet.  I  called 
an  axeman,  and  got  him  to  block  out  (i.e.  to  cut)  the  blaze  and 
we  counted  the  rings  and  it  was  just  fifty-six  years,  the  very  date 
of  the  certified  copy  of  the  warrant  which  I  held  in  my  hand." 

I  expressed  my  surprise.  "Oh,"  said  he,  "there  is  a  great 
difference  in  trees.  A  White  Oak  grows  so  fast  that  you  can  tell 
how  old  a  mark  on  it  is,  when  it  has  been  made  more  than  fifty 
years,  and  hardly  under  that;  but  a  pine-tree  it  is  very  easy  to 
tell;  and  a  hemlock,  it  grows  so  slow,  that  I  have  known  a  blaze 
to  be  shown  on  it  for  120  years.  I  once  blocked  out  a  young 
hemlock  only  5  inches  through,  and  counted  52  years  since  the 
line  mark  was  made  upon  it,  and  it  was  exactly  the  date  to  the 
survey.  The  rings  are  close  together  and  you  can  read  them  with 
a  microscope,  or  by  getting  the  axeman  to  cut  in  very  slanting, 
it  puts  them  farther  apart." 

I  sat  for  some  time  musing  upon  Truth,  and  the  Record  of 
Facts.  How  immortal  is  Truth!  How  irrevocable  is  a  Fact! 
How  simple  and  severe  is  the  Truthfulness  of  Nature!  How 
easily  it  hides,  how  readily  and  completely  it  utters  its  secrets, — 
hides  them  from  the  fool,  utters  them  to  the  Wise  Man. 

Shaefer  continued — "In  the  Pottsville  Valley,  where  every 
inch  of  land  is  claimed,  and  four  or  five  Warrants  of  different 
dates  cover  the  same  tract,  and  the  whole  country  is  covered  with 
stone  corners  and  stakes  and  line  trees,  every  tree  almost  marked, 
the  only  way  we  can  settle  anything  is  to  study  the  dates  of  the 
marks.  Rockfelder  and  Fisher  and  I  have  got  so  that  we  don't 
often  need  to  block. — '  How  old  do  you  think  that  is  ? ' — Fisher 
will  say  to  me.  '  Oh,  it  is  a  young  mark — it  isn't  twenty  years 
old.'" 

It  seems  that  the  flat  scar  of  the  axe  is  encroached  upon  each 
year  by  the  new  ring  of  wood,  until  the  bark  covers  it  and  only 
an  unshapen  cicatrice  remains.  But  inside  of  all  this  new  wood, 
the  old  flat  axe-cut  remains  unchanged,  and  of  course  signifies 
the  very  year  of  its  event. 

Many  were  our  anecdotes,  and  many  you  would  neither  under- 
stand nor  feel  interested  in,  about  land  surveys  in  old  time,  when 
the  Quaker  Lightfoot  made  bis  first  surveys  in  a  forest  of  fifty 


1851  SUMMER  IN  POTTSVILLE  243 

miles'  unbroken  sweep.     But  these  I  have  written  with  fear  of 
wearying  you,  but  in  hopes  of  interesting  you. 

I  spoke  yesterday  of  triangulating.  You  may  wonder  what 
that  is.  In  fact,  I  was  running  up  and  down  the  only  open  farm 
in  the  region,  standing  under  all  the  lone-lorn  widder  trees  I  could 
descry,  examining  minutely  into  their  mutual  relationships, —  not 
of  family,  but  of  compass  direction, — ^with  all  the  assiduity  and 
perseverance  of  any  James  Savage  or  James  Robbins  in  the  Anti- 
quarian World.  .  .  . 

I  have  copied  nearly  the  whole  of  this  letter,  as  a  good 
example  of  many  others  written  from  his  surveying  days, 
giving  a  fair  impression  of  his  busy  life,  occupied  by  turns 
with  field  or  table  work,  full  of  interest  in  nature  and  the 
simple  society  which  surrounded  him.  They  show  also 
how  he  tried  to  share  all  things  with  his  wife,  knowing  well 
her  affectionate  interest  in  all  that  was  of  interest  to  him, 
whether  she  fully  understood  it  or  not. 

June  I,  185 1.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Father. 

...  I  have  a  grand  companion  in  Shaefer,  and  another  in  Desor, 
the  Swiss,  a  man  of  celebrity  in  Eiu-ope,  and  of  great  genius.  .  .  . 

June  I,  185 1.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

Desor  gave  me  an  amusing  description  of  his  travels  with 
the  Cumberland  Presbyterian  delegates  to  Pittsburg,  on  his 
return  for  Cincinnati.  But  I  cannot  relate  it.  Let  me  tell  you 
instead  an  anecdote  of  Robert,  the  great  painter,  whose  pictures 
hang  in  Joseph's  (Lyman)  dining-room.  Robert  was  a  citizen 
of  Neufchatel,  and  fell  in  love  with  one  of  the  family  of  Bona- 
parte. Unable  to  obtain  his  desires,  he  fell  into  a  profound 
melancholy,  and  his  friends  sent  him  off  to  the  Maremma,  or  great 
harvest  plain  of  Italy,  to  see  the  scenes  of  joy  which  there  occur 
at  the  harvestings  in  autumn.  There  he  painted  his  celebrated 
pictures  of  the  return,  and  of  the  fete  de  la  Madonna,  in  both 
which  you  remember  are  immense  oxen  and  dancing  peasants 
crowned  with  flowers  and  fruit.  Remark  the  joyous  scenery 
of  either  of  these  paintings,  and  you  will  nevertheless  observe 
that  every  face  has  a  certain  tinge  of  melancholy,  quite  inconsist- 
ent with  the  nature  of  the  scene  and  the  habitual  aspect  of  the 
people.     Poor  Robert!    Afterward   he   undertook  to  paint   the 


244  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xii 

departure  of  the  fishermen  going  to  fish  for  tunny.  This  was 
a  scene  of  mournful  action,  wives  and  husbands  and  lovers  part- 
ing, and  a  deep  melancholy  covers  all.  He  painted  it  and  erased 
it  three  times.  It  was  announced  for  one  of  the  exhibitions  at 
Paris  and  a  prominent  place  reserved  for  it,  but  it  did  not  appear. 
Finally  Robert  informed  his  friends  that  on  the  morrow  it  would 
be  ready  in  his  studio  for  exhibition.  At  the  appointed  hour 
they  knocked  at  his  door,  but  it  was  shut  and  all  was  still  within. 
They  entered  by  force.  There  lay  the  artist  dead  at  the  foot  of 
his  easel,  and  the  glorious  work  completed  over  him.  A  letter 
on  the  table  said  that  life  had  for  years  been  a  protracted  misery, 
that  he  had  felt  obliged  to  finish  this  his  greatest  painting,  but 
when  that  was  done  he  felt  himself  released. 

The  picture  was  purchased  for  a  large  sum  by  a  wealthy 
Parisian,  who  exhibited  it  for  one  franc,  and  five  francs  on  Mon- 
day for  the  benefit  of  a  charitable  institution,  and  all  the  city 
poured  into  the  chamber  to  see  the  chef  d'(euvre  of  poor  Robert; 
so  that  its  proceeds  realized  an  ernormous  sum,  some  150,000 
francs. 

Now  let  me  tell  you  a  different  anecdote,  and  one  of  the  florid 
and  honest  Dean  of  York.  Buckland  travelled  in  Switzerland 
once  with  Desor.  He  was  always  too  late.  One  night  he  was 
to  go  off  for  certain,  early  in  the  morning,  and  had  to  pack  some 
valuable  fossils  in  a  box.  "What  are  these  little  boxes?"  said 
Desor,  laying  his  hand  on  two  that  rested  on  the  one  he  wished 
to  open.  "Stop  awhile,"  said  the  Dean,  "I  will  show  you." 
So  in  due  time  he  opened  one  of  them  and  there  was  a  snake, 
a  large  common  snake  of  the  country,  alive  and  as  hideous  as 
nature.  "Eh!  What  you  want  to  do  wit  tis?"  said  Desor. 
Buckland  gave  a  funny  tweak  to  his  eye,  and  opened  the  other 
box. — ^There  was  a  great  huge  toad,  not  at  all  extraordinary, 
and  as  full  of  life  as  the  snake.  "But  what  do  you  vant  tees 
ukly  tings  for?" — was  again  Desor's  question.  "Why,"  said 
Buckland,  "  you  see  that  when  I  come  to  land  in  England,  I  don't 
wish  my  boxes  opened  and  disturbed.  So  I  put  these  boxes  on 
top  of  the  rest,  and  when  the  officers  at  the  Custom  house  ask 
me  what  I  have  in  them,  I  shall  say — oh — some  objects  of  nat- 
ural History.  "Well,  but  what  are  they?"  they  will  ask.  "Why 
various  things;  open  some  and  see."  Then  they  will  open  this 
and  out  will  come  the  snake.  They  will  clap  down  the  lid  on 
him,  and  I  shall  have  no  more  trouble."  And  the  old  gentle- 
man laughed  heartily. 

"That  is  just  like  one  of  the  Buckland's  funny  tricks,"  said 


1851  SUMMER  IN   POTTSVILLE  245 

Rogers,  when  we  had  recovered  from  our  amusement.  Poor 
man,  he  is  now — ^not  insane — but  idiotic,  quite  fatuous. — Think 
of  that.  Dear!  The  author  of  the  Bridgewater  treatise,  the  great 
Dr.  Buckland  an  idiot!  .  .  . 

Shamokin,  June  6,  185 1.     To  his  Wife, 

...  I  ,  .  .  have  had  pleasant  work  running  a  remarkably  in- 
teresting railroad  line,  with  the  transit  instrument,  to  lay  a  base 
line  whence  the  whole  country  is  to  be  laid  down,  and  all  our 
other  plotting  corrected  and  proved.  It  is  also  an  unusiially 
important  geological  section  line.  ...  I  have  nothing  new  to  tell 
you  to-night,  except  that  Shaefer  returns  home,  and  his  absence 
will  be  a  great  loss  to  me;  but  Desor  is  enough  to  keep  a  dozen 
men  in  humor.  .  .  .  Haldeman  has  written  me  another  full  sheet 
of  Philology,  in  apparent  high  spirits  to  think  that  he  has  found 
a  person  who  can  sympathize  with  his  hobby.  He  proposes  my 
joining  him  in  a  joint  publication  of  a  new  English  Dictionary! 

No,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Sam!  .  .  . 

Samuel  Haldeman  was  another  of  the  group  of  friends 
who  belonged  to  these  early  survey  days.  I  remember  him 
as  a  whimsical-faced  old  man,  very  genial  and  kind,  who 
could  make  the  most  outrageous  guttural  sounds  in  his 
throat  when  pronouncing  impossible  Indian  and  other  alien 
languages.  He  and  my  father  had  many  points  of  sympa- 
thy in  their  precious  linguistic  hobbies,  and  had  a  warm 
personal  affection  for  each  other. 

June  6,  1 85 1. 

.  .  .  Desor  is  a  most  entertaining  fellow,  and  keeps  us  in 
good  humor  when  we  would  be  at  loggerheads.  His  company 
at  meal  times  is  invaluable.  He  is  every  inch  a  man,  and  noble- 
man. .  .  . 

June  gih. 

Desor  told  us  yesterday  about  one  Count  Degens  of  Napo- 
leon's army  in  Egypt,  an  anecdote  that  will  please  you  as  a  fine 
illustration  of  the  organization  of  labor.  He  became  a  great 
favorite  with  the  hussars  under  his  command,  and  being  him- 
self an  entomologist  he  induced  each  man  to  provide  himself 
with  a  tin  case  into  which  he  could  pop  every  insect,  bug,  fly, 
etc.,  which  he  encountered.  The  result  was  the  grandest  ento- 
mological collection  in  the  world.      It  was  sold  lately  in  Paris. 


246  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xii 

That  is  the  way  to  do  things.  What  an  enormous  collection 
of  minerals  and  fossils  might  have  been  made  to  Pennsylvania, 
had  all  the  local  land  surveyors  been  attached  by  some  means 
to  the  State  Geologist,  and  interested  in  his  exploration! 

I  give   you   another  instance.     ,*  I   forget   his    name, 

vi'hose  great  vs^ork  on  the  Fossils  of  Bohemia  is  just  coming  through 
the  press,  ten  years  ago  made  himself  master  of  the  stratigraphy 
of  that  region  of  Europe,  i.e.  learned  the  order  of  the  strata, 
and  especially  some  remarkable  fossiliferous  beds, — selected 
ten  laborers,  taught  them  the  elements,  gave  them  a  hammer, 
microscope,  bag,  basket,  and  pick  each,  and  kept  them  at  work 
on  laborer's  wages,  ten  years.  What  is  the  result?  The  finest 
local  collection  of  fossils  in  the  world, — but  better  yet,  the  dis- 
covery of  the  entire  life  of  many  of  these  fossils,  the  tracing  of 
trilobites,  for  instance,  through  all  stages  of  growth,  from  the 
embryo  to  full  maturity.  He  has  been  able  to  throw  20  species 
and  12  genera  into  one,  as  showing  that  what  were  considered 
20  different  kinds  of  creatures  were  but  different  appearances 
of  the  same  creature,  at  different  stages  of  its  development. 

Verneuil  has  done  the  same  in  his  region.  He  has  got  all 
the  quarrymen  in  Picardy  to  know  him,  and  by  paying  them 
a  few  sous  for  any  curiosities  they  had,  he  has  got  them  into  a 
systematic  way  of  laying  such  aside  until  he  comes  again,  and 
thus  his  collection  has  become  so  fine,  and  his  name  now  stands 
out  prominent  among  and  before  most  of  the  palaeontologists  of 
the  day. 

This  is  precisely  what  I  want  so  much  to  do  in  my  own  field. 
It  is  high  time  that  I  had  students  or  boys  at  work  analyzing  the 
different  languages  of  the  world.  And  if  I  can  only  pursue  such 
a  system  ten  or  fifteen  years,  I  shall  attain  wonderful  results, 
such  as  I  can  discern  thereof  the  distant  mountain  tops.  .  .  . 

June  10,  185 1.    To  his  Wife. 

I  wrote  yesterday,  about  Volk's  polyp  at  Nice,  and  the  law 
of  natural  progress  in  Creation.  A  very  wonderful  discovery — 
wonderful  to  those  who  have  fixed  immovably  their  theories, 
I  mean, — to  others  nothing  is  wonderful,  all  is  wonderful;— 
but  a  very  unexpected  discovery  has  lately  been  made  by  Logan 
of  the  Canada  Survey,  about  which  I  can  scarcely  restrain  my 
enthusiasm.     It  is  that  of  a  long  train  of  footprints,  a  trail  of 

*  Joachim  Barrande,  probably. 


I 


1851  SUMMER  IN  POTTSVILLE  247 

parallel  steps  of  some  quadruped,  extending  for  120  feet  along 
the  surface  of  a  sandstone  exposure. 

Perhaps  I  have  formerly  told  you  that  much  geological  rea- 
soning necessarily  rests  upon  negative  facts,  that  is,  upon  the 
presence  of  certain  phenomena  in  certain  ages,  and  their  appar- 
ent absence  at  other  (later  or)  earlier  epochs.  For  example 
it  was  taken  for  granted  that  fish  were  first  created  quite  recently 
— in  the  formation  preceding  the  Tertiary.  There  they  were  dis- 
covered abundantly  in  the  New  Red.  For  several  years  all  argu- 
ments assumed  this  as  the  era  of  their  first  appearance  on  the 
globe.  One  day  they  were  discovered  in  the  carboniferous, 
and  now  it  is  known  that  they  extend  far  down  in  the  oldest 
sedimentary  deposits.  Theorists  are  greatly  troubled  by  this 
backward  movement  of  the  dates  of  the  first  appearance  of  the 
different  orders  of  creatures.  Especially  does  it  disturb  book- 
makers. 

So  it  was  with  the  reptilia.  It  was  an  astounding  blow 
when  the  footprints  of  the  Connecticut  Valley  (New  Red)  were 
discovered  to  be  not  only  reptiles,  but  birds.  It  was  a  new  world 
for  conjecture  opened  when  the  creatures  of  the  old  red  sand- 
stone (under  the  Carboniferous)  were  found  to  have  shells  like 
tortoises,  but  everybody  rejoiced  that  they  were  not  real  tor- 
toises (reptiles,  quadrupeds),  but  only  fish  with  tortoise  shells. 
Now  comes  the  footprint  of  a  real  tortoise,  not  in  the  Old  Red, 
but  miles  below  it,  even  at  the  very  base  of  the  whole  known 
series  of  sedimentary  fossiliferous  rocks  in  this  or  any  yet  explored 
Continent,  in  the  Potsdam  Sandstone,  our  Primal  S.  (No.  i). 

The  tracks  were  cast  and  sent  to  London;  the  great  Owen 
pronounced  them  to  be  those  of  a  Chelonian  *  or  Turtle,  or 
something  of  that  kind.  A  creature  with  four  legs,  stumpy  and 
without  long  claws, — four  legs,  the  two  hindmost  the  largest. 
A  creature  wider  than  it  was  long,  i.e.  which  waddled  as  it  went — 
took  very  short  steps  and  yet  very  wide  apart,  etc. — A  creature 
also  that  either  had  a  tail  which  trailed  along  the  mud,  or  whose 
bony  under-shell  was  sharp  and  made  an  impression  between 
the  steps,  a  long  channel  or  groove,  like  that  which  a  pendent 
tail  would  be  likely  to  make. 

Lyell  speaks  of  this  in  his  address.  At  the  Cincinnati  meet- 
ing, everybody  lifted  up  their  voices  and  wept — or  rather  flew 
into  a  rage  both  with  Logan  for  finding,  and  Owen  for  discovering. 
Desor  alone  took  their  part.     Jorne  urged  that  Logan  must  have 

*  Chelonia,  order  of  reptiles  containing  turtles,  etc. 


248  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xii 

mistaken  the  rock  for  one  at  the  very  uppermost  limit  of  the 
series — which  was  a  great  impertinence.  Logan  is  no  boy, 
and  is  on  his  own  ground,  and  has  been  there  five  years,  and  close 
by  the  place  where  the  rock  received  its  name.  Others  said 
that  Owen  was  mistaken.  But  Owen  has  the  greatest  of  names 
to  protect,  the  first  of  modern  reputations  to  maintain,  and  when 
he  asserts  an  opinion  it  dare  not  be  on  slight  grounds.  Agassiz 
said  it  was  nevertheless  an  impossibility — and  if  it  were  a  fact 
even,  then  the  thing  with  its  four  legs  must  still  be  a  fish.  Others 
like  Henry  were  struck  with  a  sort  of  amusing  terror,  saying 
that  if  so  then  all  geological  rules  were  overturned — as  if  that 
would  bring  the  world  to  an  end, — as  if  we  would  not  go  right 
to  work  to  make  better  ones.  Henry  was  also  frightened  by  the 
discussion;  he  thought  it  so  dangerous  to  attack  wide-spread 
views  of  things. 

The  discovery  itself  is  a  grand  one.  It  is  a  windfall  to  Lyell 
and  the  old  Huttonians,  who  hold  that  there  is  no  progression 
but  an  eternity  of  matter,  cycle  following  cycle,  in  everlasting 
repetition  and  return.  That  all  things  have  been  and  are  what 
they  have  been,  is  the  motto  of  such,  and  they  cannot  but  rejoice 
in  finding  a  turtle  even  earlier  than  any  fish  has  been  as  yet  made 
out  to  exist. 

I  feel  a  sort  of  placid  admiration  at  it.  It  renders  specula- 
tion for  the  present  speechless,  and  thus  gives  pause  to  the  con- 
flict which  ever  rages  like  a  storm  in  the  higher  regions  of  philo- 
sophical inquiry.  It  helps  me  to  believe  that  there  never  was  a 
time  when  God  was  not, — his  wisdom  and  power  embodied  in 
admirable  forms,  and  those  also  not  the  lowest.  It  removes 
further  back  the  possibility  of  the  beginning  of  his  creative  inven- 
tiveness as  a  divine  faculty  in  only  an  incipient  or  embryo  state, 
and  rather  on  the  contrary  gives  me  a  glimpse  into  his  eternal 
glory  backward  through  our  beginning  of  things, — through  the 
dark  night  that  hangs  over  our  beginning  of  things,  into  other 
preceding  and  equally  luminous  days  beyond,  under  the  suns 
of  which  planets  before  this  were  covered  with  their  various 
creations. 

Shamokin,  June  16,  185 1.    To  HIS  Wife. 

I  rose  from  a  grand  day's  work,  eight  hours  of  plotting,  and 
ascended  the  mountain  at  the  mouth  of  the  gap,  making  sketches 
as  I  rose  upon  its  side.  But  suddenly  the  path  turned  and  I 
stood  in  presence  of  one  of  the  sublimest  scenes  it  has  ever  been 
my  good  fortune  to  behold.     To  think  that  it  is  not  a  mira- 


1851  SUMMER  IN   POTTSVILLE  249 

cle,  but  always  there,  is  admirable.  I  stood  at  the  head  of  a 
timber  slide  three  hundred  feet  high,  plunging  into  the  jaws  of 
the  gap  which  lay  in  shadow  beneath.  The  Mountain  rose  oppo- 
site with  its  broken  conglomerates  in  great  stairways  confronting 
that  on  which  I  stood.  Its  mighty  flank  swept  far  out  down 
into  the  Valley,  to  my  left.  Over  the  tree  and  bush  jagged  line 
of  the  same  I  saw  forward  up  the  valley  an  immense  distance, 
fifteen  miles  at  least.  .  .  . 

Last  evening  after  writing  to  you  I  heard  a  bell,  and  following 
its  sound  found  myself  in  a  Methodist  German  Church  or  school- 
house  rather,  crowded,  filthy  and  with  filthy  people.  A  man 
stood  up  in  the  pulpit  who  looked  something  like  a  dog,  and 
something  like  a  fox,  and  something  like  a  goat,  and  something 
like  a  hog,  and  a  great  deal  like  a  real  hard  one  at  both  temporal 
and  eternal  things,  and  his  preaching  corresponded.  How 
fearfully  he  bellowed!  .  .  .  But  the  singing  was  glorious.  Oh, 
those  old  German  hymns  of  Luther  and  Melanchthon,  and  the 
hundred  poets  of  that  terrible  age  of  madness  and  melody,  how 
they  peal  like  the  organs  of  Europe  down  the  great  aisles  of 
Time!  Never  will  their  voice  cease — their  sounding  chords  go 
forth  throughout  all  the  earth;  they  preach  in  hamlets  where 
fools  follow  their  diverse  wisdom  with  inanity  and  mischief, 
but  the  folly  is  forgotten  and  only  these  angelic  verses  and  their 
soul-moving  melodies  sink  into  the  memories  and  lives  of  the 
people.  Blessings  on  thy  head,  O  Luther,  prince  of  bards, 
rival  of  the  son  of  Jesse.  Endless  honors  crown  thy  head.  In 
every  land  thy  name,  thy  verse,  thy  soul,  shall  be  the  watchword 
of  devotion,  the  inspiration  of  crowds,  the  delight  of  the  weary 
and  woful,  the  wonder  of  the  young.  Where  thou  passest  by, 
singing,  magic  virtue  drops  like  dew  upon  the  heart,  heaven 
opens  and  the  Lord  descends  again,  faith  stands  up  refreshed, 
feuds  are  forgotten,  earth  is  absorbed,  dissolved,  dissipated, 
and  there  remains  but  the  absolute,  the  infinite,  eternity,  good- 
ness, love,  praise,  God  the  Father,  The  Son  and  The  Holy  Ghost 
and  man  worshipping. 

We  stood  and  sang  together,  and  none  could  discern  whether 
we  were  miners,  scholars,  speculators  or  princes.  We  stood 
and  sang  together,  and  at  every  repetition  of  the  "Herr  Jesu" 
every  hair  stood  on  end,  as  if  we  saw  a  spirit.  There  I  saw 
dull  fox-fire  eyes  lit  up  with  supernatural  radiance.  Blessed 
be  the  Creator  that  hast  given  Poetry  to  man.  Blessed  be  every 
poet  who  inspires  the  multitudes  with  holy  and  happy  words, 
and  the  poet  of  music,  who  furnishes  the  voice,  the  vehicle  of 


250  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xii 

the  thought.     Dear  Susie,  Music  and  Poetry  are  Mysteries,  as 
the  Ancients  said  they  were. 

June  21,  1851. 

...  I  have  enjoyed  a  new  Arkism  mightily.  The  feud  of  the 
Montagues  and  Capulets  I  suspect  to  be  the  same  as  that  of  the 
Guelphs  and  Ghibellines.  .  .  . 

How  Hke  hunting  diamonds — gold  sand,  or  rather  fossils, 
all  this  work  is!  A  happy  hit  and  a  crowd  of  indices  lead  you  to 
a  vein — to  a  stratum — to  a  systematic  understanding  of  the 
whole  why  and  how. 

Desor  illustrated  this  beautifully  yesterday  when  he  described 
his  last  journey  to  Lake  Superior.  He  and  Whitney  entered  the 
unexplored  wilderness  of  swamps  between  Lake  Superior  and 
Green  Bay.  Three  days  they  travelled  without  seeing  a  rock. 
Giving  it  up  in  despair,  they  returned  to  a  river  and  encamped. 
Going  dov^Ti  the  bank,  as  was  his  wont,  to  examine  the  height 
and  form  of  the  drift,  he  saw  a  stone  apparently  in  place — struck 
it  with  his  hammer  and  out  leaped  a  fossil. — ^Yes,  there  was  one 
of  the  little  characteristic  shells  of  the  Trenton  limestone. 
He  shouted  this  to  Whitney  who  would  not  believe  it;  but  he 
heaved  the  mass  on  his  arm  and  ran  with  it  up  the  bank — how 
he  did  it  he  could  not  teU — and  convinced  him.  That  one  fossil 
and  rock  paid  them  for  their  three  days'  search,  and  made  out 
the  geology  of  the  whole  region. 

A  few  extracts  from  my  mother's  letters  of  this  summer 
are  not  out  of  place: — 

Danzkammer  [her  sister,  Mrs.  Delano's,  home  on  the  Hudson], 
June  I,  185 1.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Aunt  Kitty  speaks  with  much  enthusiasm  of  a  lecture  of 
Mr.  Emerson's  on  the  Fugitive  Slave  law,  which  he  has  been  de- 
livering everywhere  about  Boston.  She  says  she  particularly 
respects  him  for  it,  because  all  agitation  is  particularly  distaste- 
ful to  him.  .  .  . 

June  19.    To  her  Husband. 

...  I  have  been  reading  some  excellent  tracts  of  Mr.  James 
Hamilton,  a  Scotch  divine,  and  vdsh  I  could  put  them  in  the  hands 
of  all  our  people.  Aunt  Eliza  made  them  presents  to  the  domes- 
tics here,  thinking  as  they  are  all  Scotch  Presbyterians  they 
would  like  them.  They  are  addressed  to  the  working  classes,  and 
are  full  of  good  practical  religious  instruction,  entirely  dififerent 


i8si  SUMMER  IN  POTTSVILLE  2  51 

from  the  vague  appeals  one  often  finds  in  such  tracts.  What  an 
excellent  library  we  would  put  in  our  kitchen  for  Mary  and 
Nancy  if  we  could,  containing  Hannah  More's  beautiful  tracts, 
these  of  Hamilton's,  and  many  others  I  can  think  of.  .  .  . 

Aunt  Eliza  .  .  .  told  us  a  story  about  the  Duke  of  Sussex, 
Victoria's  Uncle.  On  a  journey  in  Scotland  he  met  a  lady  with 
whom  he  fell  deeply  in  love  and  after  a  long  correspondence, 
he  married  her.  This,  you  know,  was  entirely  out  of  rule,  for 
one  of  the  royal  family  to  marry  into  the  family  of  an  obscure 
Scotch  nobleman,  and  the  marriage  was  pronounced  legal,  but 
not  regal.  As  his  wife  could  not  be  admitted  to  court,  he  re- 
tired from  court  and  they  lived  on  a  beautiful  estate  in  Scotland, 
quite  out  of  the  world,  and  caring  nothing  for  its  favors,  as  they 
were  both  superior  to  them.  They  devoted  themselves  to  the 
improvement  and  education  of  the  poor  on  their  estates,  lived 
piously  and  beautifully  all  their  days  and  found  such  entire  peace 
in  each  other's  affection  that  they  had  nothing  left  to  desire. 
Their  love  was  such  as  poets  might  have  sung.  When  Victoria 
was  a  very  little  girl,  she  was  occasionally  sent  to  her  Uncle  in 
Scotland  for  the  benefit  of  change  of  air,  and  she  became  passion- 
ately attached  to  her  gentle  and  accomplished  Aunt,  Lady  Cecilia. 
Though  she  had  not  seen  her  for  many  years,  the  very  first  thing 
Victoria  did  when  she  ascended  the  throne,  was  to  send  mes- 
sengers to  Scotland,  to  inform  the  Duke  of  Sussex  that  she  had 
conferred  upon  his  wife  the  title  of  Duchess  of  Inverness  and 
wished  them  to  appear  at  court.  The  good  Duke  was  affected 
to  tears  by  this  remembrance,  but  they  had  lived  too  long  in 
their  happy  retirement  to  wish  to  quit  it,  and  they  begged  the 
Queen  to  excuse  them.  After  a  few  years  more  he  died,  leaving 
a  direction  that  his  remains  should  not  be  buried  at  Windsor 
Castle,  where  the  rest  of  the  Royal  family  are  laid,  but  that  he 
might  repose  in  the  churchyard  of  his  own  estate,  "where  my 
Cecilia  may  rest  beside  me."  The  story  impressed  me  very 
much,  as  Aunt  Eliza  told  it,  simple  as  it  is.  I  loved  the  good 
Duke  from  my  heart.  ... 

Milton,  July  4,  1851.    To  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  After  church  in  the  afternoon  Edward  Hale,  who  was 
preaching  at  Dorchester,  drove  over  with  Lucretia  and  spent 
an  hour.  Aimt  Eliza  has  found  Charley  Hale  an  excellent 
listener  to  her  discourses  upon  education,  and  has  explained  to 
him  the  value  of  her  books  over  all  others  of  the  kind,  and  is 
charmed  to  have  found  such  a  young  man.  .  .  . 


252  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xn 

Yesterday  after  breakfast  we  heard  of  Cousin  Bennett's 
[Forbes]  arrival  and  very  soon  saw  him.  He  came  in  to  give  us 
a  greeting,  and  seemed  very  well,  and  happy  as  he  could  be  to 
be  at  home  once  more.  He  went  into  Miss  Shepherd's  school 
and  proclaimed  a  holiday  for  all,  and  kissed  the  children  all 
round.  There  was  a  great  careering  over  the  neighborhood, 
Margaret  and  Fanny,  Bennett  and  Rose  and  John's  family  driv- 
ing in  and  out  of  the  avenue  all  day  long.  Mother  was  greatly 
moved,  and  lost  her  spectacles  continually,  also  her  thimble, 
and  everything  but  her  head.  .  .  . 


My  father  adds  in  a  letter  of  the  same  date  to  Catherine 
Robbins,  "Charles  Hale  has  carried  off  the  prize  from  all 
competitors,  and  is  now  usher  at  the  Latin  School,  at  which 
William  Thayer  rejoices  greatly." 

By  July,  1 85 1,  my  father  and  mother  had  returned  to 
Milton,  rejoicing  to  be  again  in  the  little  home  on  the  hill. 
They  were  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  relatives  and  friends; 
and  besides  themselves  the  little  house  seems  to  have  given 
shelter  to  Mrs.  Lyman,  Aunt  Kitty  Robbins,  and  the  young 
friend  William  Thayer,  and  several  others  who  came  and 
-J.  went.  There  was  also  of  the  family  one  Mary  Walker, 
an  escaped  slave,  who  seems  to  have  come  from  Philadelphia 
the  previous  winter,  and  her  safety,  after  the  passage  of 
the  "infernal"  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  was  a  matter  of  great 
solicitude  to  my  parents.     I  find  letters  of  1850  and  1851 

_^  from  my  father's  cousin,  James  Lesley,  who  had  evidently 
befriended  her  in  Philadelphia  and  who  had  aided  in  getting 
her  to  Milton.     She  is  often  mentioned  in  the  letters  of  this 

^  date  and  later,  and  eventually  went  to  live  with  Mrs.  Lyman 

when  she  established  herself  in  Cambridge,  and  was  most 
faithfully  devoted  to  her.  Mary  was  a  fair  quadroon,  and 
a  finely  trained  house  servant,  an  exquisite  seamstress,  and 
a  woman  of  refinement  and  considerable  beauty.  I  re- 
member well  her  gentle  voice  and  sad  eyes.     When  the  war 

.^    broke  out,  she  went  South  under  the  auspices  of  the  Freed- 

*  man's  Bureau,  and  taught,  I  believe,  seeking  to  find  her 
three  children.  She  was  not  successful,  but  later,  through 
General  Howard,  two  of  her  children  were  found,  and  re- 


1851  SUMMER   IN   POTTSVILLE  253 

turned  to  her, — a  grown  man  and  woman,  whom  she  had 
last  seen  as  little  children.  After  a  month  in  Milton  my 
father  returned  to  Pennsylvania  for  another  season  of  field 
work,  and  this  time  my  mother  was  well  enough  to  accom- 
pany him;  and,  after  making  a  visit  in  Chambersburg  to 
James  Lesley,  she  established  herself  at  Pottsville  for  the 
autumn  months. 

Pottsville,  Aug.  17,  1851.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  You  will  certainly  be  received  with  Vivas  when  you  arrive, 
so  intense  is  public  expectation  on  your  account.  Desor  was 
there  with  his  good  face,  and  his  deaf  friend  Lesquereux  and 
Peter  Shaefer,  and  I  was  borne  in  triumph  to  the  hotel,  R.  insisting 
on  attending  to  my  luggage.  ... 

Pottsville,  Aug.  21,  1851.        To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Desor  with  his  usual  good  fortune,  and  he  is  a  veritable 
child  of  good  luck,  has  just  made  a  most  happy  discovery,  and 
thus  set  the  seal  to  the  demonstration  that  these  curious  nuts  and 
branches  belong  to  true  palms.  Lesquereux  was  hammering 
away  an  hour  in  a  good  locality,  when  D.  returned,  picked  up  a 
rock,  cracked  it  open,  and  there  was  a  cabbage  or  young  suckling 
palm,  as  big  as  a  child's  head,  and  when  broken  open  full  of  young 
leaves  all  branching  from  an  axis  or  stalk  or  root.  It  is  a  splendid 
discovery.  I  am  sitting  in  the  midst  of  palm  branches,  ferns, 
algas,  slime  plants  and  turtle  tracks,  all  discovered  in  the  red 
shales, — and — to  think! — how  many  years  our  whole  corps  were 
crossing  and  recrossing  these  strata,  and  never  knew  what  we 
looked  at.  For  many  years  the  finest  specimens  of  fossil  tracks 
yet  discovered  stared  down  upon  all  passers-by  from  the  face  of  a 
cliff  not  a  mile  from  this.  It  is  beautifully  illustrated,  now  and 
then,  how  the  eye  must  be  trained  to  see.  Rogers  and  Desor 
sat  for  several  hours  looking  at  some  rocks,  and  saw  nothing  but 
ferns:  after  a  while  they  returned  and  suddenly  saw  palm  leaves: 
they  went  to  another  locality  to  see  some  tracks,  and  returning, 
saw  suddenly  a  multitude  on  the  very  surfaces  where  they  had 
been  gazing  so  long. 

But  the  conditions  of  light  and  shade  are  all-important.  A 
change  of  light  will  instantly  produce  or  obliterate  the  appearance 
upon  many  surfaces.  .  .  . 


254  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xii 

POTTSVILLE,  Aug.  23,   185 1.      To   HIS  WiFE. 

. . .  My  work  here  is  very  mechanical,  mere  clockwork,  but  ex- 
tremely interesting.  You  will  be  charmed  with  Lesquereux,  he 
is  a  rarity. 

In  September  my  mother  joined  my  father  in  Pottsville. 

PoTTSViLLE,  Sept.  II,  185 1.    Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  came  from  Phil'a  .  .  .  last  Thursday.  .  .  .  The  hills  round 
Pottsville  are  beautiful.  I  had  no  idea  that  there  was  so  much  to 
admire  here  in  the  natural  scenery.  It  is  true,  the  town  itself  is 
a  dirty  little  coal  hole.  But  we  are  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
mountains  covered  with  verdure,  and  we  cannot  see  out  of  them. 
One  feels  shut  in  from  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  Our  hotel  is 
very  comfortable,  and  we  have  a  very  good  room,  though  it  does 
not  possess  either  closet  or  bureau,  both  of  which  articles  Mr. 
Rogers  says  are  the  last  and  highest  efforts  of  civilization. 

You  may  imagine,  that  it  requires  some  contrivance  on  my  part 
to  keep  the  room  in  tolerable  order,  which  is  quite  necessary,  as  it 
is  the  rendezvous  of  Mr.  Rogers,  Desor,  Lesquereux,  Shaefer,  and 
Colter,  at  all  hours  of  the  day  when  they  are  at  work  indoors,  and 
need  to  consult  continually  with  Peter,  or  bring  him  new  materials 
for  his  map.  I  am  delighted  to  be  here,  the  air  is  fine  and  bracing, 
and  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life.  It  is  also  delightful  to  see  Peter 
so  completely  in  his  element,  working  very  hard,  but  uncommonly 
well  and  strong,  free  from  all  nervous  troubles,  and  as  happy  as 
the  day  is  long.  I  had  no  conception  he  could  go  through  so 
much  fatigue  and  exposure  without  sickness,  but  he  sleeps  as  he 
never  has  done  since  I  have  known  him,  and  wakes  refreshed. 
It  is  certainly  the  best  life  for  him.  We  had  a  beautiful  Sunday. 
We  walked  and  read  together,  and  took  one  of  the  loveliest  rides 
at  sunset,  that  I  ever  saw.  We  rode  through  the  gap  of  the 
mountains,  to  Schuylkill  Haven,  and  home  through  fragrant  pine 
groves,  with  one  of  the  finest  skies  I  ever  saw  all  round  us.  I 
see  very  little  of  the  gentlemen,  in  any  way  to  converse  with  them, 
they  are  all  so  busy,  and  so  wholly  absorbed  in  their  work.  But 
I  enjoy  very  much  seeing  them  come  in  to  their  evening  meal, 
tired  to  death;  but  Desor  always  good-humored  and  full  of  talk, 
and  poor  deaf  Lesquereux,  the  most  interesting  to  me  of  the  whole 
group.  I  think  I  must  tell  you  his  history  as  Desor  told  it  to 
Peter.    Perhaps  you  may  not  know  that  he  is  the  greatest  fossil 


1851  SUMMER  IN   POTTSVILLE  255 

botanist  in  the  world.  He  was  born  in  Neufchatel,  the  son  of  a 
poor  watchmaker.  He  was  very  earnest  and  devoted  in  his  piety 
and  early  studied  for  the  ministry.  .  .  .  Later  he  earned  a  liveli- 
hood at  Stuttgart  by  teaching,  while  he  devoted  himself  to  fossil 
botany  in  his  leisure  hours.  Among  his  pupils  was  the  beautiful 
Adelaide  Von  WolflFskeel  von  Ruchenberg,  a  favorite  of  Goethe 
and  Schiller,  and  the  daughter  of  a  nobleman  of  high  rank.  She 
was  very  accomplished,  was  much  at  court,  and  the  favorite  of 
the  literary  circles  of  Saxe-Weimar.  .  .  .  Their  intimacy  ripened 
at  length  into  a  sincere  attachment,  and  her  father  consented  to 
their  marriage,  being  willing  to  overlook  Lesquereux's  want  of 
birth  and  fortune,  on  account  of  his  talents  and  worth.  Lesque- 
reux  was  soon  made  a  professor  in  the  University  of  Stuttgart,  and 
was  much  honored  and  beloved.  Suddenly  one  evening  while  at  a 
hterary  party  with  his  wife,  he  saw  the  lips  of  people  moving 
around  him,  and  many  addressing  him,  but  heard  no  sound. 
From  that  hour  he  has  been  stone-deaf.*  He  cannot  hear  the 
loudest  sound  through  a  trumpet  at  his  ear.  Of  course  his  Pro- 
fessorship, his  happy  home  and  all  his  prospects  for  life  vanished 
in  a  day,  and  he  was  left  with  a  wife  and  five  children  quite  desti- 
tute. He  bore  his  affliction  like  a  man  and  a  true  Christian,  and 
at  once  set  himself  at  work  at  his  father's  trade  of  watchmaking, 
and  maintained  his  family  for  some  years  in  that  way.  But  his 
hard  labors  in  ways  so  foreign  to  his  early  habits  and  tastes  wore 
upon  his  health,  and  he  fell  sick  for  two  long  years.  Then  his 
wife  Adelaide  laid  aside  all  the  prejudices  of  her  early  education, 
and  with  astonishing  perseverance  learned  a  branch  of  the  watch- 
making trade,  and  supported  her  husband  and  five  children  for 
nearly  three  years.  Was  she  not  a  wonderful  woman?  When 
Lesquereux  recovered,  he  sent  some  papers  he  had  prepared  to 
some  Scientific  society  and  he  was  soon  made  commissioner  on 
Peat  Bogs  in  Switzerland,  and  afterwards  by  the  Prussian  Gov- 
ernment for  the  whole  of  Scandinavia.  These  reports  were 
greatly  admired.  But  Desor  told  him  that  his  five  boys  would 
have  a  better  chance  in  this  Country  than  in  Europe,  and  advised 
him  to  bring  them  over  and  settle  in  the  West.  ...  He  followed 
Desor's  advice  and  took  his  family  [West]  .  .  .  Desor  has  the 
greatest  affection  and  respect  for  Lesquereux,  and  indeed  no  one 
can  help  it.  He  has  the  sweetest  and  most  gentle  spirit,  the  most 
calm  and  Christian  fortitude  that  I  ever  met  with.     He  has  all 

*  In  my  father's  memoir  of  Leo  Lesquereux,  read  before  the  National 
Academy,  April  16,  1890,  the  account  of  his  deafness  gives  it  as  a  more 
gradual  appearance. 


256  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xii 

those  lovely  ways  that  one  rarely  meets  with  in  our  countrymen. 
He  brings  his  slate  and  pencil  in  the  parlor  for  me  to  talk  with 
him  sometimes,  and  he  is  very  quick  in  observing  the  motion  of 
the  lips.  His  broken  English  is  very  funny  (his  wife  taught  him 
to  speak  English  after  he  became  stone-deaf).  He  wanted  to  tell 
me  that  a  good  wife  is  the  best  gift  of  Providence,  the  other  day, 
and  this  is  the  way  he  expressed  it:  "A  goot  vife  is  the  most  petter 
present  dan  Providence  can  never  gif  to  somebody."  He  is  long- 
ing to  see  his  wife  (who  he  says  is  a  great  deal  better  than  he  is), 
for  he  has  been  here  three  months.  .  .  . 

Peter  has  this  moment  come  in  from  a  continuous  tramp  of 
nine  hours.  .  .  . 


My  mother  found  kind  friends  in  the  Walkers  of  Potts- 
ville,  who  had  been  friends  of  her  brother  Joseph  at  a  former 
period.  Here  she  stayed  sometimes  when  my  father  was 
away  in  the  field  at  some  little  distance  from  Pottsville. 

Fremont,  Sept.  19,  185 1.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  just  had  a  scuffle  with  my  bottle-nosed  landlord,  who 
swears  that  the  country  will  never  be  safe  until  some  of  these 
abolitionists  are  swung  up  by  the  neck.  So  I  must  keep  cool  or 
I  shall  be  lynched  in  this  land  of  the  free  and  home  of  the  brave. 
I  reproach  myself  for  not  giving  a  greater  preference  to  the  sua- 
viter  in  modo.  .  .  . 

Fremont,  Sepi.  20,  185 1.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  been  pleased  with  the  simplicity  of  the  amiable 
Yakuts  who  saw  Erman  make  his  astronomical  observations  at 
Yakutsk  (the  coldest  place  on  earth)  and  were  told  and  believed 
it  that  one  of  the  St.  Petersburg  stars  had  been  lost,  and  he  had 
been  commissioned  to  traverse  Siberia  and  see  if  he  could  find 
it  in  their  skies.  The  story  finally  spread  through  all  the  Yakut 
region  and  even  among  the  wandering  Tunguses  on  the  confines 
of  the' Kamchatkan  sea;  and  when  at  last  he  crossed  the  Aldan, 
and  ascended  to  a  yurt  in  the  mountains  overlooking  the  Pacific 
he  was  again  accosted  with  the  question  whether  he  meant  to 
hunt  the  star  up  in  their  sky. .  .  . 

Sept.  21,  185 1.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Desor  told  me  last  evening  that  he  thinks  he  has  solved  the 
mystery  of  the  mushroom.     A  fine  mould  covers  the  earth,  im- 


1851  SUMMER  IN   POTTSVILLE  257 

perceptible  except  by  microscope.  This  is  the  real  plant,  covered 
with  polyps,  and  the  mushroom  that  grows  up  in  one  night  is 
the  flower.  .  .  . 

I  hope  you  have  had  as  good  a  Sunday  as  I  have — I  garnished 
our  room,  sat  down  and  read  the  Bible,  then  Desor's  Paper  on 
the  Analogies,  .  .  .  you  must  read  it,  for  it  is  highly  interesting.  . . . 

Sept.  28, 185 1.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Aunt  Catherine  Robbins, 

.  .  .  We  have  very  comfortable  quarters  at  a  little  Dutch 
tavern  at  Fremont.  Our  little  bedroom  opens  into  a  nice  little 
parlor,  which  is  only  occupied  by  our  own  party.  Here,  Rogers 
and  Shaefer,  Colter  and  Desor  sit  of  evenings,  and  talk  of  coal  and 
conglomerate,  and  all  sorts  of  geological  matters,  and  I  am  be- 
coming very  familiar  with  all  their  talk  and  their  peculiar  lan- 
guage. They  arrange  their  plans  for  the  next  day,  and  suggest 
to  each  other  different  arrangements.  You  would  not  know  I 
was  in  the  room.  I  sit  on  a  corner  of  the  sofa  with  my  knitting 
and  listen,  and  am  none  the  wiser  for  a  great  deal  of  their  talk. 
In  Pottsville  I  had  all  sorts  of  discussions  with  Desor,  upon  the 
Immortality  of  the  soul,  the  various  analogies  in  the  Natural 
World  for  his  own  belief,  and  many  other  subjects.  His  relig- 
ious ideas  are  entirely  rationalistic,  and  I  should  think  that  he 
believes  in  the  final  absorption  of  all  souls  in  God.  But  however 
this  may  be,  he  has  very  clear  views  of  the  individual  conscious- 
ness and  progress  through  many  successive  stages  of  existence, 
and  I  was  much  interested  in  hearing  him  speak  of  the  insight 
into  spiritual  things  which  his  constant  observation  of  natural 
laws,  had  given  him.  The  decrepitude  of  old  age,  which  to  so 
many  of  us  is  a  mystery,  is  to  him  one  of  the  most  clear  and  beau- 
tiful proofs  of  a  progressive  existence.  I  will  try, if  I  can  explain 
it  to  you,  though  I  cannot  do  it  as  he  does.  As  I  understand 
him,  all  living  beings  are  subject  to  two  laws,  that  of  procreation, 
and  that  of  death.  All  the  lower  animals,  as  soon  as  they  have 
fulfilled  the  first  law,  yield  to  the  second.  Man  also,  after  hav- 
ing lived  to  carry  on  the  race,  must  die.  But  he  does  not  [do  so] 
for  a  long  time.  Both  soul  and  body  endure  for  many  years  after 
the  birth  and  education  of  children  has  been  completed.  He 
resists  the  second  law  of  all  animal  life,  and  though  he  cannot 
so  entirely  overcome  it  that  both  mind  and  body  shall  not  become 
weaker,  and  finally  die  in  an  earthly  sense,  yet  the  fact  that  he 
does  resist  it,  alone  of  all  creatures,  proves  him  to  be  fit  for  immor- 
tality, and  that  he  will  pass  into  another  form  at  death.  Peter 
has  found  a  beautiful  analogy  in  the  growth  of  a  grain  of  wheat, 


258  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xn 

so  beautifully  observed  in  Corinthians,  with  which  D^sor  is  highly 
delighted.  I  shall  show  you  when  I  come  home  Peter's  de- 
scription of  the  wheat,  also  Desor's  beautiful  one  of  the  star- 
fish and  jelly-fish,  and  the  changes  of  the  intestinal  worms. 
Sometimes  it  seems  strange  to  me  to  hear  people  trying  so  hard 
to  prove  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul  from  Natural  Phenomena 
when  we  have  the  promise  in  scripture  and  the  record  of  Christ's 
resurrection;  still  all  the  added  weight  of  testimony  derived  from 
these  analogies,  is  a  great  thing  to  some  minds,  and  ought  to  be 
interesting  to  all.  .  .  . 

Oct.  26,  185 1.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Aunt  Catherine  Robbins. 

I  often  think  how  much  Desor  would  please  you  on  this  ac- 
count, he  seems  so  entirely  free  from  the  usual  vices  of  scientific 
men.  He  seems  never  to  think  of  himself  or  of  his  own  advance- 
ment, never  makes  any  secret  of  his  discoveries,  is  not  afraid  of 
other  people  at  all,  and  possesses  his  own  soul  in  perfect  peace. 
I  do  not  think  he  has  the  least  charity  or  sympathy  for  nervous 
people,  or  irritable  sensations  of  any  kind,  but  this  is  not  strange, 
as  he  has  a  perfect  constitution,  has  never  known  a  day's  ill-health, 
and  says  he  does  not  know  what  people  mean  by  feeling  nervous. 
He  is  always  genial  and  good-humored.  We  call  him  our  sun- 
shine and  shall  miss  him  much,  in  leaving  here. 

You  can't  think  how  Peter  and  I  are  longing  to  be  at  the  little 
home  once  more.  I  saw  Peter  smiling  the  other  morning,  and 
asked  him  why;  he  said  he  was  thinking  of  the  little  house  under 
the  Elms  and  Aunt  Kitty  running  out  the  door  to  meet  us. — But 
we  shall  not  be  there  before  the  first  week  in  December  ?  .  .  . 

On  the  way  home  a  visit  was  made  at  Fort  Plain,  N.Y., 
to  my  father's  sister,  Elizabeth  Stilwell. 

Fort  Plain,  Nov.  21,  1851.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Father. 

.  .  .  The  New  Yorkers  seem  really  determined  to  go  the  whole 
figure  in  their  reception  of  the  Man  of  the  Age.  Is  it  not  amus- 
ing to  hear  of  Lord  Palmerston's  note  assuring  the  Vienna  Cabi- 
net that  the  British  Government  "will  endeavor  to  bring  the 
Kossuth  Mania  to  its  limit,  in  as  speedy  a  manner  as  possible"  ? 
Kossuth's  cool  way  of  showing  the  shoulder  to  the  Socialists  is 
admirable,  and  what  he  says  at  London  settles  the  question  what 
government  he  desires  for  Hungary — viz.,  English  or  American. 


i8si  SUMMER  IN   POTTSVILLE  259 

Ftjltonville,  Nov.  26,  185 1.    Peter  Lesley  to 
Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  have  been  studiously  inclined  of  late  over  Martin's 
Volumes  upon  Eastern  India  and  admire  the  many  strange  per- 
versions of  good  taste  and  morals,  in  the  horrid  rites  and  man- 
ners of  the  Hindus  and  Mohammedans.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  But  how  unsatisfactory  it  proves  to  wade  through  a 
history  of  the  conflicts  of  barbarous  nations!  We  certainly 
feel  how  little  we  have  to  do,  as  far  as  our  immortal  thinking 
principle  is  concerned,  with  mere  acts  and  facts  and  the  move- 
ments of  matter,  whether  organized  or  not.  Unless  through  all 
this  as  a  waving  veil,  we  can  behold  behind  it  the  quiet  living  face 
of  some  idea,  which  alone  is  the  reality,  we  feel  ennui.  After 
all  there  is  nothing  real  but  the  idea.  Fact  is  only  phenomenal, 
transient,  and  the  interpreter  of  the  Ideal  or  Eternal.  I  grow 
more  inclined  to  believe  in  the  eternity  of  matter,  the  infinite 
back  extension  of  history,  and  the  infinitely  slow  progress  of 
any  change  in  the  fate  or  modus  of  nations,  every  day. 

I  find  my  health  improving,  but  it  is  difficult  to  remain  sat- 
isfied with  inactivity  after  a  few  active  months.  I  rather  dread 
the  coming  of  winter  because  I  shall  have  more  than  two  months 
of  close  drawing,  and  I  have  a  settled  conviction  of  inability  so 
to  do. 

Milton,  Dec.  11,  185 1.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Brother  Allen. 

I  never  ought  to  have  an  excuse  for  writing  you,  but  this 
time  I  have  one  which  you  might  think  frivolous,  but  for  the 
sacredness  of  all  the  little  ceremonies  of  family  life,  hallowed 
by  tradition  and  memory.  Among  these  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful is  that  of  making  New  Year's  presents,  and  the  way  that 
all  old  families  have  of  concocting  these  in  the  utmost  secrecy, 
and  bringing  them  suddenly  forth  on  the  great  day  invested 
with  all  the  charms  of  surprise.  Our  friends  the  Hales  of  Bos- 
ton keep  up  this  custom,  and  are  busily  occupied  just  now  behind 
sofas  and  rocking-chair  backs  in  the  manufacture  of  certain,  as 
yet  anonymous  and  unmentionable  bonbons,  boons,  as  our  old 
English  calls  them,  and  in  Swedish  Yule  Claps.  Years  ago  they 
established  a  Mede  and  Persian  law;  that  the  question  "What 
are  you  making?"  should  be  unlawful  any  time  within  three 
weeks  of  Christmas,  and  might  be  lawfully  answered  by  "it  is 
Corban."  That  year  they  called  their  Christmas  gifts  Corbans. 
The  next  year  they  got  an  Italian  name,  and  so  some  different 
term  in  each  succeeding  year.    Last  year  they  were  Yule  Claps, 


26o  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xii 

because  Miss  Bremer  was  arrived,  and  all  the  world  (of  Boston) 
followed  after  her.  This  year  they  are  fairly  ashore,  having 
exhausted  all  their  comparative  philologies,  and  so  I  promise  to 
come  to  their  aid,  and  get  from  your  German  Turkish  diction- 
ary the  Turkish  word  for  present  or  gift,  beyond  which  of  course 
we  cannot  go  because  that  unfortunate  nation  holds  no  Christmas 
festival;  but  in  lieu  of  it  a  Ramazan.  They  fairly  clap  their  hands 
at  the  suggestion  now  that  the  Star  of  Hungary  has  just  exploded 
from  the  Turkish  heaven  upon  us.  Assist  me  therefore,  je 
vous  prie,  and  receive  my  best  thanks.  .  .  . 

An  occasional  short  sentence  in  the  letters  of  this  time — 
autumn  of  185 1 — shows  the  sense  of  an  impending  change 
in  their  method  of  life. 

Susan  says  in  one  place:  "I  sometimes  feel  as  if  our  life 
in  Milton  may  close  in  the  spring,  and  hope  this  winter 
may  be  a  happy  one  in  our  dear  little  home.  And  yet  we 
may  live  there  for  years,  and  none  of  us  can  look  forward 
even  a  few  weeks."  And  again,  in  another  letter,  "Peter 
says  it  breaks  his  heart  to  think  of  closing  the  church." 

Milton,  March  13,  1852.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Father. 

Your  kind  favor  of  the  9th  met  us  on  our  return  from  a  short 
visit  to  Mrs.  [Lydia  Maria]  Child,  now  living  in  West  Newton,  near 
Boston.  ...  I  have  no  time  to  say  more  than  that  Rogers  is  now 
in  Phil 'a.  If  all  were  ready,  I  would  be  tempted  immediately  to  go 
to  Philadelphia  and  soon  to  take  the  field.  ...  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  Susan  will  not  accompany  me.  It  is  risking  too  much  for 
her  to  leave  home  as  she  did  last  year.  She  may  meet  me  some- 
where in  July  or  August,  but  otherwise  I  shall  be  alone.  .  .  . 
I  cannot  discuss  the  reasons  for  my  feeling  so  deeply  about  my 
brother's  residences  and  views,*  but  these  pain  me  deeply  when 
I  permit  myself  to  reflect  upon  them.  For  we  might  view  every 
evil,  vice,  ignorance  and  accident  in  the  world  as  permitted  by  a 
wise  providence,  and  therefore  to  be  let  alone, — but  Christ  taught 
the  reverse  of  that.  He  bids  us  be  our  brother's  keepers — to 
hunt  out  wrong  and  redress  it, — to  war  against  all  unrighteous- 
ness to  the  death — to  keep  no  brotherhood  with  avowed  evil- 
doers— and  to  preach  the  gospel  of  liberty,  good  will  and  a  right 

*  Allen,  Henry  and  William,  lived  at  this  time  in  Delaware. 


1852  SUMMER  IN  POTTSVILLE  261 

life,  to  all  men,  all  the  time,  at  all  risks  to  themselves.  And  if 
slavery  existed  in  the  Ancient  Hebrew  polity  (which  I  doubt — 
viz.,  such  slavery  as  ours),  it  was  allowed  "for  the  hardness  of 
their  hearts,"  and  done  away  by  Christ.  To  conceive  of  a  Chris- 
tian slaveholder  is  simply  an  impossibility.  Although  it  is  easy 
to  conceive  of  a  Calvinistic  or  a  Methodist  or  an  infidel  or  a 
good-natured  demoniac  slaveholder, — but  a  Christian  slave- 
holder is  grammatical  nonsense. 

But,  as  I  said,  I  cannot  discuss  a  subject  which  in  dividing 
loving  hearts  by  the  cold  steel  of  a  money-making,  political  pol- 
icy, gives  the  keenest  pain.  I  am  no  fanatic  in  my  abolitionism; 
but  it  is  my  life,  and  goes  to  the  extremities  of  all  my  politics 
and  religion,  as  all  life  must. 

I  hope  soon  to  be  with  you  again,  dear  father,  until  when — 
with  best  love  and  blessings  I  remain  your  affectionate  son, 
Peter. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Last  Days  in  Milton. — Removal  to  Philadelphia  and 
A  Scientific  Career.     1852 

April  i,  1852,  my  father  again  left  home  and  his  Milton 
parish,  and  went  via  Northampton  to  Philadelphia.  My 
mother  remained  in  Milton,  occupying  herself  with  the  sick 
and  poor  of  the  parish,  with  the  sorrows  and  anxieties  of 
her  hand-maiden,  Mary  Walker  (the  fugitive  slave),  and 
other  cares  which  she  willingly  undertook  for  those  she 
loved  and  those  who  needed  her  love. 

My  father  was  at  this  time  in  great  uncertainty  as  to 
what  his  further  course  in  life  should  be.  He  had  been  for 
years  becoming  more  and  more  a  man  of  science,  and  prob- 
ably the  life  of  the  ministry  was  becoming  increasingly  diffi- 
cult to  him,  I  think  he  was  temperamentally  unsuited 
to  the  life  of  a  pastor.  Personal  social  relations  of  a  formal 
and  regular  character  were  always  difficult  to  him.  To 
make  calls  at  stated  intervals,  to  talk  of  neighborhood  in- 
terests and  small  matters  of  personal  import,  to  prepare 
two  sermons  every  week,  etc., — all  these  things  were  alien 
to  his  nature.  On  the  other  hand  he  dearly  loved  to  preach, 
and  loved  the  pulpit  as  his  chance  for  spreading  abroad 
what  seemed  to  him  truths  of  vital  import.  He  used  to  say 
that  there  was  no  pleasure  greater  or  more  inspiriting  than 
to  feel  one's  self  holding  and  swaying  the  thought  and 
emotion  of  an  attentive  audience.  Moreover,  he  had  the 
warmest  personal  friendship  with  those  of  his  parish  who 
needed  comfort,  help,  encouragement.  To  them  he  could 
come  with  counsel  and  hope.  Then,  too,  he  was  essen- 
tially a  "man's  man,"  and  the  country  pastor  is  too  much 
confined  in  his  parish  work  to  feminine  society.  In  one 
of  his  letters  he  says  in  a  fit  of  impatience,  "A  man  should 
have  to  do  with  but  three  women, — ^his  mother,  his  sister 

262 


18S2  REMOVAL  TO   PHILADELPHIA  263 

and  his  wife,  and  hardly  so  many  as  that!"  But,  above  all, 
in  my  father's  case  was  the  great  strain  he  was  under  of 
fulfilling  double  duties, — his  sermons  and  church  work,  on 
the  one  hand;  his  drafting,  geologizing,  lecturing,  and  writ- 
ing for  print,  on  the  other.  The  time  had  come  when  he 
must  choose  between  the  two,  and  in  view  of  his  health  it 
was  almost  inevitable  that  the  choice  should  fall  on  the  side 
of  science.  For  in  field  work,  variety  of  occupation,  and 
exercise  he  found  the  best  chance  for  vigor  and  physical 
comfort  to  himself.  I  may  have  given  the  impression  that 
he  was  unsocial.  This  is  far  from  true.  He  was  of  a  very 
social  nature,  and  absolutely  democratic.  His  life  from 
the  beginning  was  full  of  friendship.  He  was  a  hearty  lover, 
his  affection  was  strong,  intense,  and  lasting.  But  for 
formal,  so-called  "society  life,"  he  had  no  taste,  and  no 
leisure  time  to  devote  to  it. 

Massasoit  House,  Springfield,  April  5,  1852. 
Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

I  reached  Northampton  Saturday  p.m.  and  was  warmly 
greeted  by  Ellis  and  your  brother  Sam,  who  wished  me  to  go 
home  with  him.  .  .  . 

It  was  bleak  and  cold  and  I  tumbled  incontinently  into  bed 
and  dreamed  of  murdering  somebody,  and  being  pursued  all 
night  long  by  the  officers  of  justice,  through  snow  heaps.  As 
you  may  suppose  I  woke  quite  refreshed,  and  preached  twice, — 
in  the  morning  the  sermon  you  selected  on  Living  and  Dying 
and  felt  it  much  myself.     The  people  were  as  quiet  as  mice.  .  .  . 

Mr.  Joy's  sage  head  and  glorious  eyes  stood  ready  to  give 
me  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Clarke 
walked  home  with  us.  In  the  afternoon  I  chose  Aunt  Kitty's 
sermon  on  Conservatism,  and  was  shocked  to  find  myself  pulled 
up  in  mid-career — to  the  unbounded  astonishment  also  of  my 
very  respectable  audience — for  the  other  half  was  missing.  So 
they  escaped  with  a  short  sermon.  Going  home  with  Sam 
Lyman,  I  saw  his  wife  and  daughters  and  little  Jane  Brewer,  and 
had  a  most  agreeable  visit  there.  After  tea  we  sat  an  hour  with 
the  Joys,  who  have  both  swallowed  an  air-tight  stove  and  can 
scarcely  speak  loud,  but  were  interesting  enough  even  at  that. 
Miss  Cochrane  was  too  sick  for  me  to  see,  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thayer 
and  Sarah  came  to  the  EUises  in  the  evening.    After  which  I  talked 


264  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiii 

with  Rufus  until  I  almost  dropped  from  my  chair  into  the  open 
fireplace  with  sleep.     Voila — c'est  toute  mon  histoire.  .  .  . 

My  thoughts  are  very  much  in  conflict  about  my  course.  .  .  . 
I  feel  immense  strength  and  inexhaustible  resources,  and  now 
is  the  time  to  reap  their  harvest,  if  ever — for  you.  ...  If  you 
could  see  my  inner  man  you  would  hardly  recognize  it,  under  the 
energizing  influences  of  an  opening  season  and  a  wide  field  of 
enterprise.  The  moment  I  am  emancipated  from  the  petty  thral- 
dom of  the  study  chair,  and  shake  off  the  small  responsibilities 
of  the  weekly  sermon,  I  am  a  man  again.  .  .  . 

I  shall  try  to  do  something  in  the  way  of  London  Times  illus- 
trations this  summer.  .  .  . 

I  send  love  as  usual  to  Aunt  Kitty  and  Mother,  if  with  you, 
and  to  William  Thayer,  and  wish  always  to  be  remembered  to 
Mary  [Walker]  and  Nancy.  A  slave  has  suddenly  been  captured 
in  New  York  and  remanded  to  the  South.  Let  them  be  very 
cautious, — the  sword  is  always  over  them.  ,  .  . 

Philadelphia,  A-pril  7,  1852.    To  his  Wife. 

I  have  seen  all  who  are  to  be  at  once  seen  about  home,  supped 
with  our  Grand  Father  and  just  had  him  fussing  round  to  light 
my  gas-burner  and  see  that  I  am  comfortable  before  he  goes  to 
bed.  It  is  nearly  nine  o'clock.  I  feel  at  rest,  and  wish  to  revise 
the  hours.  When  I  travel  I  live  many  days'  lives  in  one.  In  the 
streets,  in  the  boat,  in  the  cars,  infinite  trains  of  reflection,  all 
vehement,  succeed  each  other.  Every  new  person  condenses 
the  intercourse  of  months  into  an  hour  or  half  an  hour.  In 
medias  res  is  the  motto,  and  an  arrow  sticking  in  the  white  spot 
of  the  target  is  the  symbol  of  travellers.  Hence  the  fatigue  from 
which  you  suffer  so  much,  and  which  only  insures  me  sleep. . . . 

April  II,  1852.    To  HIS  Wife. 

...  I  got  into  lively  conversation  with  my  old  friend  Dr.  Hare 
of  Princeton,  David  Trumbull's  favorite,  upon  German,  and 
general  theology,  history  and  criticism.  He  is  more  of  a  hare 
than  ever,  except  in  courage,  much  of  which  he  exhibited,  with 
a  full  assurance  of  faith,  on  the  technics  of  science,  which  was 
pleasing.  My  brain  is  sluggish; — it  has  been  so  overworked  of 
late  it  needs  a  rest  to-day,  and  shall  have  it.  I  desire  some  spir- 
itual converse,  and  surely  it  is  to  be  had;  yet  the  difl&culty  which 
poor  Man  is  made  to  feel  when  he  endeavors  to  find  food  for  the 
body,  because  he  wants  fine  and  rich  food,  and  much  more,  has 


1852  REMOVAL  TO   PHILADELPHIA  265 

its  counterpart  in  the  vain  longings  we  often  feel  for  manna — 
vain  because  too  high  strung;  for  the  soul  needs  common  and 
even  coarse  nourishment,  or  it  also  becomes  dyspeptic.  Is  it  not 
possible  ?  I  have  tried  lately  to  restore  my  appetite  for  common- 
place spiritualism,  and  the  daily  fare  of  the  good  who  are  not 
puffed  up  with  wisdom  over -much.  Do  you  not  think,  that  this 
is  wise? 

Thank  you  for  telling  me  about  B and  his  family  and  for 

doing  there  what  was  right.  If  we  don't  get  on  in  the  world  very 
fast,  let  us  have  the  happiness  of  doing  a  little  for  others  as  we 
jog  along.  You  must  feel,  my  darling,  that  I  am  with  you  in  will 
and  act,  in  all  such  things,  and  while  you  are  entirely  free  to 
do  what  your  heart  proposes,  only  join  me  to  yourself  in  spirit 
in  such  good  offices,  and  I  will  be  satisfied.  .  .  . 

My  mother  writes,  April  12,  1852,  these  words  in  one  of 
her  long  letters:  "Whatever  plan  you  decide  upon,  believe 
it  will  suit  me.  Do  not  forget  how  good  a  Lecturer  you 
may  be,  if  other  things  fail." 

April  14,  1852.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Aunt  Kitty  and  I  have  laughed  and  cried  over  the  first 
volume  of  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  for  two  days,  and  are  waiting 
impatiently  for  the  second.  It  is  a  book  that  will  make  a  vast 
impression  for  good,  I  am  sure.  It  opposes  all  pro-slavery  views, 
far  better  than  arguments  and  reasoning  could  do.  There  is 
not  a  bitter  word  against  Slaveholders  in  the  whole  of  it,  and  is 
written  in  a  wholly  different  spirit  from  any  of  the  Abolitionist 
articles.  How  I  wish  Father  and  Joe  and  Allen  would  read  it. 
I  am  sure  they  would  feel  it  to  be  a  good  book,  and  as  Mrs.  Stowe 
is  a  thorough  colonizationist,  they  would  not  be  offended  by  her 
principles.  The  religion  running  through  it  is  the  pure  religion 
and  undefiled.  I  wonder  that  Mrs.  Child  should  have  called  it 
Theology,  or  anything  else  but  real  vital  fervent  Christianity, 
the  spirit  of  Jesus  that  is  to  renovate  the  world,  and  right  all 
wrong.  I  don't  know  whether  I  want  you  to  read  it  or  not,  for 
you  feel  such  things  so  intensely,  but  it  is  undoubtedly  the  story 
of  the  age.  .  .  . 

PHn,ADELPHiA,  April  14,  1852.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  If  I  adopt  the  profession  of  Geologist  or  topographer,  you 
are  aware,  dear,  that  it  may  carry  me  off  every  summer,  the  Lord 


266  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiii 

only  knows  where.     That  is  its  worst  feature.     But  man  is  a  pil- 
grim and  a  stranger  upon  the  earth.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  April  i8,  1852.     To  his  Wife. 

...  I  wandered  all  day  yesterday  about  the  streets,  but  was 
remunerated  after  all  by  finding  that  I  could  hold  this  tyrannical 
gloominess  in  a  very  effective  and  wholesome  check.  I  sought 
out  the  objects  of  human  woes  among  the  crowds,  stood  and 
looked  at  the  wilted  and  woe-worn  apple-women,  planted  myself 
on  the  wharfs  for  an  hour  at  a  time,  comparing  the  mien  and 
expression  of  travellers  entering  the  New  York  Steamboat, 
sympathizing  with  the  seedy  old  gentlemen  in  scrimped  coats  and 
tarnished  metal  buttons,  and  worn-out  bank  clerks  going  into 
the  country, — watched  the  real  pleasures,  and  compared  them 
with  the  sudden  and  violent  outbursts  of  rage  and  misery  of  the 
Newsboys,  until  I  became  calm  and  self-possessed.  I  am  always 
satisfied  with  life;  I  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  complain  of  my 
lot.  It  is  not  that — but  a  profound  hopelessness  and  an  exhaus- 
tive criticism  of  the  instability  and  general  unsoundness  of  all 
things,  blows  upon  me  like  an  enervating  sirocco  from  the  deserts 
of  No  Faith.  .  .  . 

I  saw  Kossuth  yesterday  also.  His  shoulder  almost  touched 
mine  as  he  went  onto  the  Steamboat.  There  were  twenty  or 
thirty  here  who  suspected  the  hour  when  he  would  pass  through. 
He  drew  his  hat  so  very  low  over  his  brow  that  I  could  only  see 
distinctly  his  lower  face.  He  seemed  as  full  of  business,  and  as 
completely  and  unconsciously  at  home  in  it,  as  the  best  of  our 
business  men,  as  wholly  imconscious  of  the  crowd  as  were  the 
other  stragglers  who  came  running  up,  afraid  they  were  too  late. 
I  comprehended  then  the  expression  used  by  so  many,  and  which 
always  struck  me  rather  unpleasantly — I  remember  Mrs.  Bennett 
Forbes  used  it  the  evening  of  the  party  at  the  Chapmans, — "his 
characteristic  feature  was  that  of  profound  humility."  It  is  in- 
conceivable that  a  man  of  his  history  and  make  and  nature  should 
exhibit  it,  should  look  and  walk  as  he  does.  I  took  off  my  hat  as 
he  passed  and  let  it  fall  to  the  ground,  and  looked  after  him,  saying 
to  myself,  there  moves  an  imconscious  imiverse  in  space.  God 
bless  the  unselfish  patriot.  ... 

Philadelphia,  April  23,  1852.    To  ms  Wife. 

Henderson  has  delighted  me,  and  he  says  I  have  made  him 
very  happy.     He  was  in  solitude,  he  says,  until  I  came.     "We 


A 


i8s2  REMOVAL  TO   PHILADELPHIA  267 

are  much  alike  in  our  inwards,"  as  John  James  Garth  Wilkinson 
ought  to  say,  but  probably  would  not.  He  is  to  be  appointed  to 
the  Asylum  here,  I  judge,  for  a  couple  of  years,  and  will  not  leave 
the  Navy  for  his  farm  in  Penn's  Valley.  .  .  . 

A  letter  from  my  mother,  undated,  says:  "I  went  to 
town  yesterday  to  see  the  Kossuth  reception,  or  rather  him- 
self. Aunt  Kitty  and  I  had  a  fine  view  of  his  noble  face  as 
he  slowly  passed  Mrs.  Wolcott's  house  in  Boylston  Street 
where  we  were.  .  .  .  But  the  best  of  all  is  that  Estes  [Howe] 
is  going  to  get  me  a  chance  to  go  to  Faneuil  Hall  to-morrow 
eve,  and  hear  him  speak." 

April  28,  1852.     To  HIS  Wife. 

...  I  am  charmed  at  your  seeing  Kossuth.  I  wish  we  had 
seen  him  together,  and  I  lay  awake  last  night,  thinking  how  you 
were  moved  under  his  voice.     I  shall  be  impatient  to  hear  about  it. 

May  I,  1852.     Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

It  seems  a  long  time  since  I  have  written  to  you,  though  I 
did  write  on  Thursday,  but  so  much  has  happened  in  the  inter- 
vening time  that  it  seems  a  week.  I  went  into  town  Thursday 
afternoon,  joined  the  Cambridge  party  in  Court  St.,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  Faneuil  Hall,  two  hours  before  the  time.  I  never  had 
a  conception  of  a  crowd  before.  We  soon  found  ourselves  in  the 
midst  of  a  sea  of  people,  pressing  upon  each  other  from  three 
directions,  there  was  not  space  enough  anywhere  to  wedge  in  a 
cane.  We  were  hterally  taken  off  our  feet  forty  minutes  in  this 
position.  I  wonder  that  ribs  and  backbones  were  not  broken  by 
the  pressure  of  large  fists  and  elbows — yet  I  had  also  no  idea 
that  a  crowd  could  be  so  good-natured.  There  were  the  funniest 
things  said  by  the  sufferers,  and  repeated  through  the  crowd,  with 
many  laughs  and  cheers.  An  immensely  fat  man  behind  me  laid 
his  great  palms  against  my  shoulders,  when  there  was  an  onward 
movement  of  the  people,  saying  as  he  shoved  me,  with  an  inimi- 
table Yankee  tone — "It  is  quite  important  marm  to  give  a  leetle 
larch.''  He  was  certainly  acquainted  with  "Our  Seth's  boat, 
when  it  upsot."  Well,  your  Susie  got  in  unhurt,  had  an  excellent 
seat  in  the  gallery,  and  heard  Kossuth.  I  was  not  in  the  least 
carried  away,  though  I  am  glad  I  have  seen  and  heard  him. 
There  was  the  greatest  enthusiasm  in  the  audience.  I  shall  send 
you  the  speech.    There  were  beautiful  things  in  it,  but  it  was  not 


268  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xin 

brilliant,  and  as  for  eloquence,  that  is  out  of  the  question,  where 
a  man  reads  every  word,  as  if  from  a  book,  with  downcast  eyes, 
without  gesture,  or  ever  departing  from  his  notes.  I  was  alto- 
gether much  moved  with  his  appearance.  There  is  a  profound 
melancholy  in  his  whole  air,  and  his  eyes  have  the  saddest  look 
I  ever  saw.  Susan  Hillard  has  been  very  intimate  with  Madames 
Pulsky  and  Kossuth,  ever  since  they  came,  is  with  them  all  the 
time,  and  accompanies  them  in  all  their  visits  to  the  schools, 
asylums,  etc.  She  tells  beautiful  stories  about  them.  They  are 
two  heroic  women, — Madame  Pulsky  highly  intellectual.  They 
are  worn  out  and  anxious,  always  shrouded  in  the  deepest  mourn- 
ing dresses,  for  Hungary.  They  say  that  the  whole  Hungarian 
nation  wear  black,  and  deny  themselves  every  luxury  that  comes 
from  the  Austrian  hand.  These  two  ladies  weep  over  the  luxu- 
rious entertainments  given  them  in  this  country.  "So  much 
wealth  here,"  said  Madame  Pulsky  to  Cousin  Susan,  "and  to 
think  that  it  would  buy  life  and  liberty  for  our  poor  Hungary." .  .  . 

Attached  to  this  letter  is  a  curious  printed  dollar-bill 
"dated  at  New  York,  2nd  of  February,  1852,"  promising 
to  pay  the  holder  one  dollar,  one  year  after  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Independent  Hungarian  Government.  Signed 
by  L.  Kossuth. 

May  2,  1852.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  For  myself  I  am  completely  without  wishes,  sure  of  being 
happy  anywhere,  and  free  from  that  strong  clinging  to  Milton  I 
had  a  year  ago,  though  I  have  been  very  happy  here  and  no  doubt 
should  be.  I  wish  only  for  yoiir  health,  happiness  and  success 
anyway,  more  in  the  heavenly  treasures  than  any  other,  and 
believe  that  God  will  allow  us  to  do  our  small  share  of  good,  as 
well  in  one  place  and  occupation  as  another. 

On  May  5,  1852,  my  father  was  offered  by  Mr.  Miller, 
"Head  Engineer  of  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad,"  $1,200  a 
year  and  "a  constant  supply  of  architectural,  mechanical, 
and  topographical  drawing  here  in  the  city  the  year  round." 
This  offer,  after  forty-eight  hours  of  uncertainty  and  pon- 
dering, he  thought  best  to  accept.  He  writes  my  mother: 
"The  Rubicon  is  passed,  if  it  will  only  not  grieve  my  darling. 
...  It  is  a  very  important  step,  but  I  think  that  I  have  acted 


1852  REMOVAL  TO   PHILADELPHIA  269 

on  the  whole  for  the  best."  Thus  ended  his  life  in  the  min- 
istry, and  the  pleasant  Milton  years.  It  was  certainly  hard 
for  my  mother  to  leave  the  dear  friends  who  surrounded  her 
in  the  New  England  home,  and  in  later  years  she  told  us 
of  the  wrench  it  had  been  to  all  her  nature  to  make  the 
change.  She  loved  the  place,  the  people,  the  little  church, 
their  own  parishioners,  and  the  position  of  love  and  esteem 
she  and  her  husband  held  in  the  community.  But  she 
never  allowed  her  own  feelings  of  sorrow  to  disturb  him, 
and  probably  her  judgment  approved  the  step  on  his  ac- 
count. He,  however,  realized  what  the  change  meant  to 
her,  and  grieved  over  it,  even  while  he  felt  the  necessity. 
She  was  to  remain  in  the  little  home  on  Milton  Hill  until 
late  autumn,  and  then  join  him  in  Philadelphia.  In  a  letter 
of  May  II,  1852,  after  approving  his  acceptance  of  Mr. 
Miller's  offer,  she  adds,  "I  cannot  help  hoping  that  we  may 
end  our  days  in  New  England,  yet  I  have  no  prejudice 
against  living  elsewhere,  and  feel  sure  of  becoming  strongly 
attached  to  any  place  and  people  where  I  am  thrown." 

Fateihaven,  May  15,  1852.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Perhaps  you  do  not  like  my  little  saving  schemes;  you 
would,  dear,  if  you  only  saw  how  they  all  look  forward  to  a  little 
home  of  peace,  where  we  can  bless  others  tenfold. — ^But  I  do  not 
want,  when  we  have  a  home,  that  our  liberality  should  always  be 
cut  short  by  the  fear  of  debt,  and  you  be  forced  to  neglect  doing 
one  thing  well,  for  the  sake  of  making  both  ends  meet,  which 
always  makes  you  do  odd  jobs  of  every  kind,  for  the  piirpose  of 
raising  money. — In  the  long  run,  it  would  sour  your  temper  and 
ruin  your  health.  Do  not  let  us  now  take  upon  ourselves  so  many 
burdens,  that  we  cannot  finally  have  a  home,  where  brothers  and 
sisters  and  children  and  friends,  the  poor  and  the  sorrowing  may 
come  to  find  peace  and  rest.  We  will  never  be  stingy  in  the 
present  for  any  futiire,  but  I  am  sure  it  is  worth  saving  for,  to 
found  a  home  that  shall  not  be  a  heavy  burden  to  us.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  May  16,  1852.    Peter  Lesley  to 
Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

I  am  glad  that  you  saw  and  heard  Kossuth.  His  speeches 
are  still  fresh  to  me,  and  the  quality  of  immortality  which  char- 


270  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xm 

acterizes  only  the  highest  and  best  of  things.  At  Bunker  Hill 
he  was  no  doubt  to  a  degree  inspired,  but  that  could  not  appear 
in  his  speech,  seeing  that  it  was  written  before  he  went,  but  it 
may  well  have  influenced  his  tones  and  mien.  I  have  heard  noth- 
ing about  him  for  a  week.  .  .  . 

Kossuth's  influence  upon  the  age  will  be  immense.  His 
outward  appearance,  his  personal  impression  upon  a  crowd, 
ought  to  be  slight,  for  he  belongs  to  the  world  of  invisible  and 
omnipotent  ideas  or  universalities,  as  one  of  the  spiritual  impon- 
derables,— not  to  that  of  the  picturesque  form  or  material,  passive 
and  plastic.  He  is  like  the  magnet  shut  up  within  the  helix, 
the  exhibitions  of  its  life  are  at  the  opposite  poles — a  thousand 
miles  off — in  all  directions.  The  passion  and  power  of  oratory 
lie  in  the  nerves  and  sensibilities  of  the  bodily  frame;  the  greater 
the  brain  or  head,  the  more  powerful  the  effect.  But  the  revolu- 
tions of  eras  are  effected  by  what  size  cannot  measure  nor  weight 
weigh,  which  occupies  neither  time  nor  space,  the  spirit  or  logos 
of  man,  which  seems  to  be  merely  vivified  and  self-conscious 
truth,  clad  in  flesh  to  exhibit  itself  and  multiply  its  consciousness. 
This  cares  nothing  for  mere  exhibition,  or  that  which  appears 
to  disappear.  It  always  seeks  in  its  deeds  its  own  immortality 
and  its  own  universality.  The  Kossuth  therefore  cares  nothing 
for  local  effects,  but  only  for  permanent  realizations  of  Right, 
and  their  multiplication  and  repetition  everywhere  where  they 
suit.  It  is  a  great  misfortune  not  to  have,  seen  a  Kossuth — once. 
But  the  men  of  wealth  and  form  must  hate  him.  It  is  the  fate 
of  luxury  to  hate  permanent  ideas.  It  seeks  perpetual  change, 
for  it  lives  only  in  the  passing  moment,  is  chagrined  at  the  past, 
and  is  fearful  of  the  future,  and  therefore  its  punishment  is  to 
be  ennuye  with  the  present,  which  is  an  eternal  punishment. 
God  give  us  the  freedom  of  the  Great  Jerusalem  of  thought  and 
truth!     There  alone  can  we  live.  .  .  . 

My  father's  dear  friend  Henderson  was  married  in  May 
to  Miss  Virginia  Picot,  of  Philadelphia,  a  very  beautiful 
and  charming  woman.  He  describes  the  wedding  to  my 
mothfer  at  length,  in  a  letter  of  May  23,  and  winds  up  thus: — 

Presently  it  was  at  an  end;  the  benediction  was  echoed  from 
heart  to  heart,  they  turned  and  faced  a  crowd  of  prophets  and 
prophetesses  of  their  future  happiness ;  every  one  flew  dovra  upon 
them  with  a  hand-grasp,  or  for  a  kiss.    Virginia  ran  about  kissing 


1852  REMOVAL  TO   PHILADELPHIA  271 

everybody,  red  as  a  sunset,  like  the  Jungfrau  when  she  takes  good- 
night of  the  Bernese  people. — Two  old  Scotchmen  in  one  comer 
shook  hands,  and  said  one  to  the  other, — "Wull,  wuU,  late  us  nu 
gang  bock  into  thaw  Woruld."  I  felt  that  for  me  there  was 
no  going  back  into  the  world — it  was  all  "well,  well,"  in  too  high 
a  sense  to  leave  the  world  our  prison.  Nothing  like  the  great 
facts  of  the  world,  realized  by  the  good,  with  beauty,  for  lifting  us 
out  of  the  dungeons  of  the  satanic  trade  and  cant  world  which 
we  call  the  "woruld."  I  went,  it  is  true,  down  Chestnut  St.  to 
my  office,  and  met  hosts  of  coats  and  frocks  walking,  but  I  was 
still  at  the  wedding  and  at  our  wedding;  .  .  .  and  then  I  vdshed 
to  make  some  present  to  the  pair,  to  bring  my  bodily  life  up  into 
the  spirit  life  where  my  soul  moved.  I  mooted  the  question  of 
an  immediate  resurrection,  so  to  speak,  through  some  tangible 
present.  Some  one  had  brought  in  to  Virginia  just  at  the  hour 
an  exquisite  flower  basket  of  biscuit  ware.  That  was  well — but 
I  had  something  better.  I  could  lend  them  new  eyes  to  see  nature 
with,  I  could  bring  the  beauties  of  their  route  closer  to  them. 
I  could  command  the  elements,  and  subsidize  light  for  their  mar- 
riage tour, — that  was  much  better.  I  rode  home  in  the  first 
omnibus,  got  my  lorgnette  in  its  old  case,  with  the  band  still 
round  it,  torn  and  dusty,  jumped  into  another  bus  that  passed 
just  by,  and  found  them  as  they  stepped  into  the  boat.  They 
were  of  course  pleased  with  my  lenses,  and  when  the  bell  rang, 
we  left  them  alone  in  the  crowd  together  on  the  waters,  with  the 
evening  sun  lightening  up  the  trees  of  the  Jersey  shore,  boats 
crossing  each  other's  wakes  over  the  whole  stretch  of  the  river, 
and  the  sky  just  so  tempered  in  its  blue  vdth  cloudy  fleece  as  to 
typify  to  them  subdued  hopes  and  chastened  joys.  In  half  an 
hour  I  was  deep  in  calculation  how  many  feet  must  be  taken 
from  the  north  boundary  of  the  Powell  property,  so  as  to  leave 
just  30  acres  of  land  on  each  side  of  the  R.  Road  curve  in  West 
Philadelphia.  At  half-past  six  I  locked  my  door,  strolled  up 
Walnut  Street,  bought  some  nuts  at  the  corner  of  5th — fed  the 
squirrels  and  peacocks  in  Independence  Square,  turned  from 
Chestnut  Street  up  6th  under  the  scaffolding  of  the  new  buildings, 
bought  six  oranges  at  the  Confectioner's  in  Market  Street  next 
to  Uncle's  store,  who  told  me  they  were  as  sweet  as  strawberries, 
and  some  taffy  at  the  old  woman's  in  Sugar  Alley,  where  I  used 
to  get  it  30  years  ago — for  Aunt  Hall — and  sat  down,  tired  as  a 
hod-carrier  and  happier  than  any  lord,  to  tea  with  my  dear  old 
Governor  and  his  very  tolerable  and  almost  amiable  wife  and 
my  petit  beau-frhe,  and  talked  and  joked  and  read  Kossuth's 


272  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xni 

last  speech — and — went  to   bed   and   dreamed   I   was   married 
myself — but  I  won't  say  to  whom,  for  you  would  be  shocked. 

May  24,  1852,  he  moved  out  to  Germantown,  where  he 
lodged  first  at  Buttonwoods,  "a  famous  hotel  for  thirty 
years  back." 

May  26,  1852.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

. . .  Susan  [Hillard]  is  entirely  absorbed  in  the  business  of  rais- 
ing a  subscription  for  the  poor  Hungarian  ladies  who  are  expected 
this  week.  The  mother  of  Kossuth,  an  old  lady  of  seventy, 
her  three  widowed  daughters  and  eleven  children,  will  all  arrive 
in  a  day  or  two,  without  money  or  clothing,  sent  from  an  Austrian 
prison  to  this  country,  without  time  or  means  to  collect  the  neces- 
saries of  life.  They  are  going  to  Cincinnati,  to  open  a  school, 
but  they  have  nothing  to  get  there  with.  Kossuth  reHgiously 
keeps  all  the  money  he  has  obtained  here,  for  his  people,  so  they 
cannot  be  benefited  except  by  private  kindness.  Madame  Pulsky 
tells  Cousin  Susan,  that  Kossuth's  mother  is  a  noble  old  lady,  much 
worn  with  long  imprisonment,  and  that  the  daughters  are  pious, 
excellent,  devoted,  one  of  them  possessing  great  genius,  and  that 
they  only  need  the  means  to  get  them  to  Cincinnati,  .  .  .  and 
they  can  get  their  own  living  without  anybody's  help.  .  .  . 

Juite  8,  1852.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  wish  you  would  get  Sandy  to  read  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin." 
In  a  private  letter  to  a  friend,  that  I  have  seen,  Mrs.  Stowe  speaks 
joyfully  of  the  numbers  of  children  that  read  it,  and  says  when 
she  thinks  of  that,  she  thanks  God,  and  takes  courage,  and  shall 
try  again.  Old  Mr.  Amos  Lawrence  keeps  an  immense  number 
of  copies  on  hand,  and  gives  to  everybody  that  visits  him,  grown 
or  little  folks,  that  have  not  read  it.  He  also  bought  two  hun- 
dred copies,  and  sent  out  to  California,  to  be  distributed  there, 
and  another  hundred  he  sent  to  friends  in  the  South.  Amer 
HoUingsworth,  who  never  cared  a  sou  for  Anti-slavery  was  in- 
duced to  read  it  in  a  queer  way.  He  had  larger  demands  for 
paper  than  ever  before,  and  found  he  could  not  with  all  his  efforts 
make  enough.  Publishers  sent  to  him  asking  if  he  would  not  set 
up  a  new  mill.  "Uncle  Tom"  was  called  for  so  fast  that  I  should 
not  dare  to  tell  you  how  much  paper  was  wanted.  Amer  Hol- 
lingsworth  kept  his  paper-mill  going  extra  hours,  and  then  had 
the  curiosity  to  read  the  book  that  kept  him  so  busy.    He  and 


1852  REMOVAL  TO   PHILADELPHIA  273 

his  wife  cried  over  it,  and  come  what  will,  they  are  Anti-slavery 
people  henceforth.  It  is  a  book  of  wonderful  power,  and  what  a 
work  it  will  do!  .  .  . 


At  this  time  my  father  was  very  busy  over  plans  for  a 
new  depot  for  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad  in  Pittsburg. 
His  letters  are  full  of  architectural  ideas,  sketches,  descrip- 
tions, etc.     What  became  of  all  this  work  I  do  not  know. 

June  10,  1852.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wipe. 

...  I  do  nothing  but  draw,  draw,  draw  all  day,  and  haven't 
an  extra  thought  to  throw  to  a  dog.  .  .  . 

He  writes  rather  whimsically: — 

*  June  II. 

My  pressing  piece  of  work  was  duly  signed,  sealed  and  de- 
livered to  Adams  &  Co.  Public  Benefactors  and  addressed  to 
O.  W.  B.  P.  A.  E.  P.  R.R.  for  the  benefit  of  the  City  Fathers 
in  Pittsburg  (a  gang  of  soap-boiling  ragamuffins — by  all  accounts) 
— to  recommence  negotiations  about  shutting  up  two  alleys, 
to  erect  an  incredible  monstrosity  called  a  Station  House.  Said 
Station  House  duly  skylighted,  towered,  plastered,  round-win- 
dowed, balustraded,  flat-roofed,  and  flattened  generally  down  to 
the  taste  of  the  American  pubHc,  and  conscript  Pittsburg  Fathers 

in  particular;  but  in  a  more  especial  manner  adapted  to  Mr. ■ 

's  appreciation  of  the  beautiful. 

June  16,  1852.     To  his  Wife. 

.  .  I  have  been  again  among  the  squalors  of  the  newly  pur- 
chased property  between  Market  and  Kelly,  Thirteenth  and  Juniper 
Sts.  There  sat  a  score  of  feeble  and  feverish  mothers,  on  doorsteps, 
in  little  back  yards,  watching  scores  of  dirty  children  playing  in 
the  gutters.  Some  asked  me  eagerly  if  I  intended  to  build  them 
better  houses.  My  smile  was  no  doubt  a  sad  one  when  I  replied 
that  I  wished  I  could.  The  little  children  fought  who  shoiild  hold 
the  ring  end  of  my  tape,  as  I  went  from  one  brick  edge  to  an- 
other, and  measured  one  filthy  wall  after  another.  There  were 
sheds  also  inhabited,  and  afterwards  stables  innumerable,  full 
of  horses,  and  ending  in  old  wooden  houses  full  of  Irish  people; 
and  the  backs  of  Market  Street  flash  {sic)  shops,  and  so  I  wormed 


2  74  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xm 

in  and  out  like  the  Devil  in  Paris,  taking  the  measure  of  human 
enormities,  questioned  by  beings  of  every  species. 

June  20,  1852.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

How  I  felt  for  the  miserable  people  who  asked  if  you  were 
going  to  build  them  little  houses!  What  a  pity  that  more  rich 
people  do  not  set  about  such  enterprises! — ^What  a  pity  that  any 
boy  should  grow  up,  with  property,  without  being  inspired  with 
the  same  ideas  that  have  led  Charles  Barnard,  and  Sam  Eliot, 
and  Charles  Norton  and  Dr.  William  Lawrence,  to  devote  their 
lives  and  money  to  the  erection  of  Children's  Hospitals,  schools, 
and  employment  houses!  Just  after  you  left  here,  I  saw  the 
large  house  in  Channing  St.,  where  the  Mothers  who  go  out  days  to 
work  leave  their  yoimg  children  for  the  day,  .  .  . 


Here  follow^ed  a  description  of  the  arrangements  for  the 
good  of  the  children. 

July  I,  1852.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  To-day  ...  I  have  lain  on  the  sofa  all  day,  reading  the 
Memoirs  of  Agrippina,  and  rejoicing  that  I  did  not  live  in  her 
day,  unless  indeed  my  lot  had  been  cast  among  the  early  Chris- 
tians. Aunt  Kitty  complains  that  I  gobble  up  books  so  fast,  she 
can't  keep  me  supplied.  She  and  I  have  lately  read  a  novel 
"The  Head  of  the  Family,"  deeply  interesting,  and  the  hero 
reminds  me  much  of  my  Peter.  I  was  much  pleased  with  Les- 
quereux's  letter,  which  you  sent  me.  How  I  wish  I  could  see 
him!  Do  I  vmderstand  him  rightly,  that  he  is  convinced  Desor 
will  never  retiu-n  to  this  country  ?  .  .  .  Aunt  Kitty  sent  you  a  paper 
containing  Elossuth's  speech  at  the  Tabernacle,  which  we  thought 
the  most  beautiful  of  all  his  speeches.  I  shall  send  you  also 
a  Commonwealth  containing  [Joshua]  Giddings'  speech  on  Sla- 
very, which  seems  to  me  very  fine.  I  only  hope  that  Charles 
Sumner  will  wake  up  to  the  same  degree  of  righteous  boldness. 
The  Abohtionists  are  making  anxious  inquiries  after  his  back- 
bone, but  I  have  faith  in  him  still. 


My  father  had  evidently  another  plan  for  the  depot  on 
hand,  for  he  writes:— 


1852  REMOVAL  TO   PHILADELPHIA  275 

July  9,  1852.     To  HIS  Wife. 

...  I  have  devised  a  noble  Egyptian  front  to  my  Depot,  and 
w^ill  have  three  artists  work  in  inventing  crowds  of  figures  for  the 
frieze  to  represent  in  stiff  Egyptian  style  the  handicraft,  commerce, 
steam  and  telegraph  of  modern  days.  It's  a  bright  thought, 
and  worth  trouble  which  I  shall  not  spare.  If  I  can  induce  enough 
taste  in  the  men  I  deal  with  to  accept  my  designs,  I  shall  intro- 
duce a  new  style  into  our  Architectural  Art.  .  .  . 

Your  letters  are  springs  of  cool  water  by  a  turnpike  road,  in 
a  hot  and  hilly  land.  .  .  . 

July  14,  1852.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Cousin  Susan  Hillard  is  now  rejoicing  in  having  been  the 
means  of  uniting  a  husband  and  wife,  who  have  had  for  years 
no  trace  of  each  other.  The  wife  escaped  from  slavery  years  ago, 
perhaps  ten  years  since.  The  husband  escaped  and  reached 
Boston  a  month  ago.  Somehow  he  fell  in  with  Susan  and  told 
her  his  story.  She  wrote  numerous  letters  to  Canada,  among 
others,  one  to  Jones  Lyman  in  Montreal.  .  .  .  Jones  hunted  the 
colored  population  through,  and  when  the  poor  man  reached 
Montreal,  was  at  the  station  house  to  receive  him,  and  conducted 
him  to  his  long-lost  wife.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Stowe  has  received  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  from  the  sale  of  "Uncle  Tom,"  and  gives  largely 
to  any  distressed  fugitive  case.  .  .  . 

Do  you  know  that  a  few  weeks  since  the  Consociation  in 
Connecticut  voted  a  second  trial  of  Dr.  Bushnell,  and  that  his 
church  were  so  indignant  at  it,  that  they  at  once  withdrew  from 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  Consociation,  and  made  themselves  an 
independent  church,  without  even  asking  Dr.  Bushnell's  advice 
or  consent.  .  .  . 

In  August  of  1852  my  mother  had  joined  my  father  in 
his  Germantown  lodgings,  and  there  they  remained  for 
several  months,  after  which  they  removed  to  rooms  in  Phila- 
delphia for  the  winter.  It  was,  as  I  have  said  before,  a 
heavy  trial  to  my  mother  to  leave  Milton.  My  father  also 
regretted  the  change,  but  it  is  evident  from  the  tone  of  his 
letters  that  the  new  life  better  suited  his  temperament  and 
instincts,  and  that  the  relief  from  sermon-making  and  reg- 
ular parish  duties  was  very  great.  He  was  in  truth  a  man 
of  science,  and  felt  himself  now  to  be  working  in  the  line 


276  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiu 

for  which  his  talents  best  fitted  him.  I  do  not  think  he  ever 
regretted  the  years  given  to  the  Theological  School  or  to 
the  work  of  the  ministry,  and  he  retained  throughout  life 
certain  intellectual  and  spiritual  interests  which  were  the 
direct  outcome  of  those  early  studies.  I  well  remember 
his  delight  in  such  books  as  Kenan's  "Vie  de  Jesu,"  Kuenen^s 
"History  of  Israel,"  and  Stanley's  "Jewish  Church."  They 
stood  side  by  side  on  his  mantel-shelf  with  the  latest  scien- 
tific manuals,  magazines,  and  brochures,  where  in  a  leisure 
half -hour  he  could  find  them,  and,  sinking  into  the  neigh- 
boring arm-chair,  light  his  short  pipe  full  of  mild  tobacco, 
and  read  (and  mark  with  his  blue  pencil  as  he  read)  either 
to  himself  or,  if  he  found  a  willing  listener,  aloud,  until 
duty  called  him  again  to  his  drawing-board,  manuscript, 
or  proof-reading. 

In  September  they  went  to  visit  the  Delanos  at  their 
new  place  on  the  Hudson,  "Algonac."  My  father  remained 
there  two  or  three  weeks,  and  then  returned  to  Philadelphia, 
and  presently  went  into  the  field  in  Western  Pennsylvania 
for  the  rest  of  the  season. 


Latrobe,  Oct.  5,  1852.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  The  work  is  interesting,  the  weather  fine,  the  scenery 
charming.  The  river  winds  through  beautiful  meadows  with 
wooded  banks,  and  dashes  its  folds  against  high  and  steep  wooded 
bluffs.  .  .  .  After  my  work  was  over  with  the  party,  I  went  along 
the  river -bank,  far  from  any  house,  under  a  lovely  alley  of  great 
trees  extending  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  The  setting  sun  streamed 
through  them,  and  slanting  over  the  high  bank  under  which  I 
walked,  struck  full  upon  the  red  and  yellow  trees  that  crowd  up 
the  opposite  slope  and  were  reflected,  every  branch  and  tinted  leaf 
in  the  still  mirror  of  the  water.  I  walked  with  you  in  spirit,  and 
recalled  some  fine  utterances  of  Aunt  Kitty  in  her  last  letter  to 
me,  by  which  I  learned  that  she  was  enjoying  the  ever -young 
nature  there,  but  how  much  more  would  she  have  enjoyed  this 
here !  I  walked  till  the  sun  was  long  down,  and  thought  with  much 
grateful  feeling  how  work  is  hghtened  to  the  laboring  man.  I  can 
give  you  no  adequate  conception  of  the  surpassing  loveliness  of 
these  scenes.  .  .  . 

To-day  a  letter  comes  from  Lesquereux,  just  arrived  at  Colum- 


i8s2  REMOVAL  TO  PHILADELPHIA  277 

bus  .  .  .  He  begs  me  to  come  to  see  him;  expresses  the  greatest 
joy  and  gratitude  at  getting  home  after  five  months'  absence,  well, 
and  finding  all  well.  Says  he  has  everywhere  been  successful 
with  his  identifications,  .  .  .  The  impression  he  made  at  the  Sum- 
mit* was  extraordinary;  they  speak  of  his  visit  as  of  an  angel's. 

New  Alexandria,  Oct.  13,  1852.    To  his  Wipe. 

.  .  .  By  the  time  I  had  got  back  to  the  "big  house,"  it  was  quite 
dusk,  and  an  old  man  with  a  face  like  a  deacon's,  two  young  men 
and  a  woman,  all  evidently  deacon's  children  (or  elder's  1  should 
say  in  Pennsylvania),  were  sitting  down  at  the  table  in  the  kitchen 
where  the  old  lady  presided.  And  there  was  a  vacant  chair  there 
also.  They  had  no  doubt  had  a  family  consultation  (as  to  board- 
ing and  lodging  me  for  the  night)  in  my  absence,  and  resolved, 
on  Christian  principles,  to  take  the  stranger  in;  so  down  I  sat, 
and  soon  made  friends  of  the  old  couple,  for  sure  enough  the  old 
father  was  an  elder  in  the  Presbyterian  church,  and  I  could  tell 
him  endless  stories  of  Dr.  Green  and  Dr.  Alexander,  and  specu- 
late upon  the  probabilities  of  Dr.  Humphrey's  resignation,  and 
all  that.  But  I  never  let  on  that  I  was  ever  deeper  in  the  mys- 
teries of  Clerical  society  than  a  spectator  might  be.  After  tea, 
I  drew  my  boots  and  opened  my  charts,  and  showed  him  where 
Slatter's  line  ran  fifteen  years  ago  down  Crab  tree  branch,  across 
his  flats,  and  up  McClelland's  run.  Yes,  he  remembered  it  right 
well.  He  could  show  me  about  where  they  passed  his  lane  above 
the  locust-tree,  and  although  he  supposed  the  stakes  were  all 
gone,  yet  there  was  a  hickory-tree  up  the  run,  which  had  a  long 
time  ago  many  figures  and  "strange  marks"  upon  it,  and  he'd 
shew  me  that.  A  common  big-wick  tallow  candle  stood  between 
us  on  the  parlor  table,  his  son  drew  up  a  chair,  and  three  news- 
papers lay  on  the  table,  each  of  us  took  one  and  sat  a  long  time 
in  silence  reading,  the  daughter  sat  still  behind,  knitting,  the 
Mother  in  the  kitchen.  My  paper  happened  to  be  the  Presby- 
terian. A  queer  sensation  ran  through  me  as  I  opened  it,  which 
I  now  always  feel  whenever  I  meet  it,  as  if  an  enemy  whom  I 
despised  met  me.  "What!  Here  too  Billy  Engles !"  is  its  trans- 
lated meaning.  "Thou  old  fox!  Thou  half -saint  sinner  of  a 
Church  politician ;  with  thy  Calvinism  and  thy  sneers  at  De  Hawkes 
and  Oberlin,  etc., — art  thou  friend  and  Cure  here  also?"  How 
ubiquitous — how  omnipotent  in  his  way,  is  the  editor  of  a  popu- 

*  The  Summit  was  at  Cresson,  on  the  top  of  the  Alleghanies,  and  the 
home  of  my  father's  friend,  Dr.  Robert  Jackson. 


278  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xra 

lar,  especially  of  a  religious  denominational  organ  of  a  news- 
paper! Yet  I  never  fail  to  feel  my  disgust  gradually  subside  into 
a  sort  of  happy  satisfaction  as  I  leave  the  second  page,  and  turn 
to  the  first,  and  especially  to  the  fourth,  where  all  sorts  of  tender 
harmonies  of  the  soul,  tales  of  faith  and  charity,  receipts  for  the 
cure  of  heartsickness,  and  what  not,  are  spread  out  like  delicious 
viands  on  table  before  these  innumerable  country  families.  I 
hit  upon  a  pretty  story  (if  true),  of  a  mouse  that  during  the  ab- 
sence of  the  family  had  got  into  a  canary  bird's  cage,  and  when 
the  family  returned  was  not  only  quite  domesticated  there,  but 
had  begun  to  take  music  lessons  and  actually  ( ?)  learned  to  imi- 
tate perfectly  the  canary's  song,  but  in  a  low  sweet  tone,  and  loved 
to  prompt  the  bird,  and  lived  upon  its  seed  and  cake.  Tell  that 
to  Dora  and  say  for  me  that  I  mean  to  have  a  kiss  for  that  pretty 
story,  when  I  return.  Indeed  I  think  she  will  grant  that  it  is 
worth  one  a  day  for  a  whole  week.  .  .  . 

New  Alexandria,  Oct.  15,  1852.    Peter  Lesley  to 
Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

. .  .  The  Loyalhanna  itself  is  as  beautiful  as  its  name,  gambol- 
ling (I  can  call  its  action  by  no  other  name)  from  side  to  side  in 
wonderful  eccentric  loops,  down  through  now  wild  solitudes,  and 
now  most  smiling  farms.  I  wish  Thoreau  had  chosen  it  instead 
of  the  tame  Merrimack  for  his  description.  The  biography  of 
such  a  river,  even  flowing  as  it  does  through  almost  unhistoric 
scenes,  would  if  well  written  arrest  the  attention  of  the  world. 
It  is  pleasant  to  think  that  every  year  helps  to  make  our  land 
historical,  adding  the  tints  of  age,  the  mosses  of  romance,  filling 
local  scenery  with  family  adventure,  and  giving  dead  nature 
life.  ... 

I  have  greatly  enjoyed  my  occupation ;  but  you  know  I  have  an 
unhappy  habit  of  soon  tiring  of  everything,  and  I  already  heartily 
wish  that  I  were  at  home.  Dear  Aunt  Kitty,  you  little  know  how 
intense  my  longings  are  after  an  ideal  perfection  in  nature,  temper, 
morals  and  manners,  which  successive  years  only  seem  to  post- 
pone more  surely.  These  aspirations  are  probably  common  to 
most  men;  if  so,  their  being  so  commonly  unfulfilled  suggests 
despair.  And  yet  when  I  see  you  so  patient,  self-sacrificing, 
affectionate,  and  wise  in  your  judgment  and  your  treatment  of 
others,  I  cannot  despair  of  some  day  becoming  more  worthy  of 
life.  What  astonishes  me  is  that  I  ever  dared  to  patronize  virtue 
and  preach  Christianity.  What  is  it  in  the  difference  of  airs  in 
New  England  and  in  Pennsylvania,  that  makes  a  person  radical 


1852  REMOVAL  TO   PHILADELPHIA  279 

there  and  conservative  here?  For  I  am  becoming  conservative, 
in  very  fact.  One  reason  may  be  that  here  no  topic  of  high 
morality  is  ever  mentioned.  If  the  traveller  introduces  a  reform- 
ing thought,  it  lies  down  in  a  general  silence,  like  a  gazelle  fawn 
dropped  in  the  snows  of  Nova  Zembla,  and  is  instantly  frozen  to 
death.  To  talk  of  anything  but  courtship  and  marriage  or  rail- 
road business  here,  one  must  set  to  and  preach,  monopolize  con- 
versation, and  be  damned  for  a  pedagogue.  Religion  is  quite 
perverted  to  mere  orthodoxy,  and  so  great  a  fear  of  any  liberal 
thought  pervades  all  minds  that  people  will  not  dare  talk  to  you. 
You  can  no  more  get  them  to  discuss  faith  and  free  will  than  you 
could  get  the  Spaniards  to  discuss  the  supremacy  of  the  Pope  in 
the  days  of  Torquemada. — You  tell  us  in  your  letters  always  just 
what  we  most  wish  to  know,  about  our  friends  and  their  affairs. 
TeU  William  [Thayer],  if  you  please,  that  I  flagellate  my  spiritual 
back  daily  for  not  writing  to  him,  but  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  I  am  too  much  of  a  fool  to  do  it.  He  sent  me  a  To-day 
with  a  capital  critique  on  Hawthorne,  the  latter  part  of  which  I 
especially  admired,  as  it  gradually  cleared  itself,  and  completely, 
from  the  few  faults  of  style  (to  me)  which  appeared  in  the  first 
page  or  two  before  his  pen  grew  warm.  I  am  in  such  a  desert 
as  to  literature,  that  I  cannot  find  him  even  a  cactus  flower  to 
send.    I  shall  die  mentally  of  inanition  at  this  work.  .  .  . 

Oct.  17,  1852.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

. . .  Six  o'clock.  I  have  been  to  prayer  meeting,  and  my  ears  are 
full  of  wind,  and  my  belly  of  chaff.  God  knows  I  preached 
better  than  that !  I  thank  him  for  it.  Certainly  I  did  not  blow 
such  oat-bread  dust  about,  or  purvey  such  stony  provender  to 
our  little  flock  at  Milton.  There  is  to  be  a  prayer  meeting  at 
twelve  o'clock  next  Sunday,  in  lieu  of  preaching,  as  the  venerable 
dealer  in  chaff  is  to  meet  his  brethren  in  Synod.  I  have  a  mind 
to  come  and  preach  myself.  Surely  the  words  of  our  good  Master 
would  do  good,  and  I  could  find  some  wheat  even  among  the 
chaff  of  my  own  unwinnowed  life.  ... 

New  Alexandria,  Oct.  22,  1852.    To  his  Wife. 

...  It  is  very  amusing  to  observe  the  great  variety  and  dis- 
tinct individuahty  of  character,  as  one  stops  to  dinner  or  to  sleep, 
at  one  house  after  another.  All  are  differently  composed, — the 
families  I  mean, — and  every  man,  woman  and  child  is  himself 
and  no  other  person;  yet  some  remind  me  of  others  whom  I  have 


28o  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiii 

known  elsewhere.  The  Postmaster  here,  for  instance,  strongly 
recalls  to  my  remembrance  Wendell  Phillips.  But  these  are  rare 
exceptions.  I  can  run  over  in  my  mind  now  fifty  different  people, 
old  and  young,  whose  acquaintance  I  have  made  this  week,  and 
whom  I  know  as  well  as  if  I  had  seen  them  under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances every  day  or  two  for  half  a  year, — ^who  are  perfectly 
well  defined  in  face,  mien,  and  mental  culture,  and  spiritual 
nature.  Family  resemblances,  however  strong,  do  not  obliterate, 
but  rather  set  forth  this  astonishing  individuahty,  which  the  open 
air,  hard  work,  scant  resources  of  pleasure,  and  free  room  for 
the  will,  in  such  a  land  as  this,  are  sure  to  generate.  I  wish  you 
were  a  man,  my  darling,  that  you  could  go  with  me  where  I  go, 
see  what  I  see,  and  become  as  much  one  with  me  in  these  infi- 
nitely varied  sceneries  as  we  are  one  in  all  things  else.  .  .  . 

Oct.  22,  1852.    To  ms  Wife. 

I  have  spent  this  week  down  the  valley  at  farm-houses,  far 
from  any  post  road.  .  .  .  Yesterday  and  day  before  I  suffered 
great  pain,  but  the  weather  was  too  fine  to  stop,  and  my  anxiety 
to  get  through  kept  me  running  and  climbing  until  I  fairly  con- 
quered the  pain,  and  it  left  me  entirely  to-day.  I  surveyed  the 
wildest  gorge  yesterday,  walled  in  with  subhme  cliffs  hoary  with 
age  and  moss,  and  at  their  feet  ran  the  little  river,  among  immense 
rocks  fallen  from  above,  and  broken  hemlocks,  and  matted 
laurel.  The  sun  went  down,  the  owls  began  to  hoot,  the  river 
began  to  shine  out  like  one  of  Turner's  pictures  in  the  dusk, 
and  I  looked  about  in  vain  for  some  path,  however  rough,  out  of 
this  Purgatory,  as  the  neighbors  have  named  it.  I  at  length 
faced  the  vast  wall  of  rocks  and  shingle,  and  clambered  straight 
up,  twice  as  high  above  the  water  as  Warren's  house  is  above  the 
Hudson,  and  then  to  the  summit  of  a  noble  hill,  whence  I  could 
overlook  the  region  far  and  wide,  even  to  the  Mountains.  I 
espied  a  house  also  down  to  the  right,  in  a  lovely  concentration 
of  little  vales,  and  there  came  up  from  it  a  sonorous  blast  from 
the  supper  horn;  so  taking  one  sight  to  the  great  brick  church 
at  Saltzburg  to  fix  my  place,  I  shouldered  my  tripod,  hurried 
down  some  lanes,  and  was  received  like  an  old  friend  by  a  charm- 
ing family  of  North  Irish  people  by  the  name  of  Johnston, — of  the 
worthiest  sort;  and  nothing  they  could  do  for  my  comfort  seemed 
to  satisfy  them.  We  sat  up  late  (for  us),  then  they  gave  me  the 
big  Bible,  and  with  a  happy  heart  I  went  with  the  old  man  up 
to  the  nicest  of  bedrooms,  full  of  beds,  and  slept  within  curtains, 
in  lamb's-wool  blankets,  a  sweeter  sleep  than  I  have  had  since 


1852  REMOVAL  TO  PHILADELPHIA  281 

leaving  home.  .  .  .  When  I  left  this  morning,  they  all  begged  me 
to  "call  again,"  which  I  heartily  promised  to  do. 

Oct.  24,  1852.    To  HIS  Wife. 

.  .  .  The  oddities  of  country  life  come  out  in  many  unexpected 
ways.  They  have  new  idioms  here — such  as  the  use  of  Vast  as 
a  noun,  "a  vast  of  houses," — or  "of  snow";  this  is  our  original 
waste,  a  great  stretch  of  desert.  Talking  of  the  new  hotel  putting 
up  here  in  Latrobe,  two  men  agreed  in  my  hearing  that  "  it  would 
be  a  real  bully  house";  I  suppose  this  to  be  the  vulgar  Enghsh 
of  helle,  as  jolly  is  of  jolie.  I  have  heard  it  used  by  many  vulgar 
people,  but  especially  by  boys,  which  proves  its  great  antiquity. 
Traditions  of  great  old  fashion  are  here  in  general  vogue;  for 
instance  they  would  as  soon  dispense  with  the  bread  or  with  the 
wine  at  communion  as  with  the  httle  round  leaden  "tokens," 
which  are  here  a  perfect  absurdity,  but  in  Scotland  were  a  neces- 
sity, inasmuch  as  it  was  impossible  to  "fence  the  tables"  without 
them,  where  six  or  eight  large  congregations  met  to  commune  by 
thousands,  governed  by  ten  or  twenty  ministers.  Without  tokens 
of  some  sort,  all  sorts  of  wolves  would  get  in  among  the  sheep. 
They  retain  also  the  beautiful  custom  of  spreading  long  tables 
in  open  parts  of  the  churches  and  sitting  round  them.  You  would 
be  surprised  and  charmed  with  the  sound  common  sense  and 
acute  argumentative  powers  of  the  elderly  people.  I  think  they 
resemble  very  much  the  inhabitants  of  the  Connecticut  valley, 
but  are  not  quite  so  well  educated.  Books  abound  in  the  farm- 
houses, and  in  many  of  them  an  exemplary  neatness  and  great 
comfort.  Others  are  horrid,  bare  and  miserable  in  their  lives, 
and  many  are  filthier  than  you  could  conceive  of .  .  .  . 

Oct.  27,  1852.    To  HIS  Wipe. 

.  .  .  We  have  just  heard  of  Webster's  death.  It  gave  me  a 
great  shock.  I  then  realized  first  his  true  and  awful  position 
in  the  universe — in  universal  history. 

Oct.  30,  1852.     To  HIS  Wife. 

.  .  .  Sat  up  reading  Tom  Hood's  "Up  the  Rhine";  but  how 
soon  protracted  humor  palls!  It  is  the  lowest  wholesome  food  of 
the  human  soul.  It  makes  me  doubt  whether  there  really  be  any 
humor  in  heaven.  Wit  is  quite  another  and  a  better  thing;  it  is 
the  soul,  to  humor,  the  body.  I  had  a  most  forlorn  time  here 
Wednesday  afternoon  and  evening.     It  rained,  and  I  fell  into  the 


282  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xin 

dumps,  and  megrims  of  all  shades  beset  me,  and  I  began  to  doubt 
and  hate  everything  and  everybody,  and  would  have  gone  to 
bed  so,  but  for  my  kind  hostess  coming  in  with  two  nice  volumes 
of  "Uncle  Tom,"  which  I  read  and  reread  till  quite  late,  wonder- 
ing that  there  was  so  much  in  it  that  I  had  neither  seen  nor 
heard,  and  wondering  more  and  more  at  the  perfection  of  the 
book  as  a  mere  work  of  art.  .  .  . 

November  6  my  father  returned  to  Philadelphia,  where 
a  few  days  later  my  mother  joined  him.  Long  letters  of 
this  date  to  my  grandmother  Lyman  tell  of  how  they  settled 
themselves  into  rooms  on  Arch  Street,  and  of  the  various 
friends  they  made, — Dr.  Furness  and  his  brother  James 
Furness's  family,  Mrs.  Palmer  (Isaac  T.  Hopper's  sister),  and 
several  others.  Of  Dr.  Furness  my  mother  writes:  "He 
is  a  remarkably  genial  and  happy  man.  One  feels  that  he 
has  really  attained  to  the  liberty  wherewith  Christ  makes 
his  followers  free." 


w  ^ 

t-1  ^ 

1-1  »^ 

w  « 

^  s 

<  I 

P  ft; 

CO 


H     s 

Ah      § 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Professional  Life,     i 853-1 858 

The  ten  years  from  1853  to  1863  were  years  of  anxiety 
and  struggle,  but  at  the  end  of  that  time  my  father's  repu- 
tation as  a  competent  working  geologist  was  fully  estab- 
lished, and  he  had  become  widely  known  as  a  man  of  science. 

My  father  and  mother  had  left  Mrs.  Lyman  and  Miss 
Robbins  in  the  Milton  house,  where  they  remained  for  some 
months,  after  which  my  grandmother  moved  to  a  house  in 
Cambridge,  on  Garden  Street,  where  she  remained  eight  ^ 
or  ten  years.  Here  my  mother  usually  spent  her  summers, 
while  my  father  was  occupied  with  geological  field  work, 
not  only  in  Pennsylvania,  but  occasionally  in  the  South  and 
West.  He  was  often  obliged  to  be  absent  from  home  on 
these  expeditions  late  into  the  autumn,  and  even  until  mid- 
winter. The  exposure  and  hardship  of  the  winter  trips 
was  often  very  great,  but,  on  the  whole,  the  life  suited  his 
health  better  than  a  purely  sedentary  occupation  would 
have  done. 

He  and  my  mother  were  deeply  interested  in  the  anti- 
slavery  question,  and  they  felt  the  gathering  clouds  of  na- 
tional trouble,  which  were  to  culminate  in  the  Civil  War. 
They  were  personally  interested  in  the  fate  of  several  fugi-  / 
tive  slaves,  chief  among  these  Mary  Walker,  their  faithful 
handmaid  in  the  little  Milton  home.  The  letters  make 
frequent  reference  to  her  sorrows  and  anxieties,  to  the  Fugi- 
tive Slave  Law  ("that  wicked  law,"  as  my  mother  once  ex- 
pressed it),  to  the  Kansas  and  Nebraska  sufferers,  and  to 
the  hopes  and  fears  of  the  reform  party  in  the  national 
election  of  1856. 

It  seems  best  here  to  make  some  small  reference  to  the 
most  painful  episode  of  my  father's  life, — ^his  rupture  with 
his  old  friend  and  master,  Henry  D.  Rogers. 

283 


284  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

He  had  always  great  respect  for  Dr.  Rogers's  abilities 
as  a  geologist  and  a  man  of  science,  and  often  mentioned 
with  great  satisfaction  the  honors  paid  to  him  at  various 
times  by  scientific  men  in  Europe,  as  well  as  in  this  country. 
But  I  fancy  he  had  always  found  it  difficult  to  work  under 
Rogers,  and  probably  they  were  temperamentally  antag- 
onistic. Both  were  extremely  nervous  men,  and  probably 
suffered  from  the  irritability  common  to  such  sensitive 
physiques.  I  find  in  the  letters  of  the  summer  and  autumn 
of  1 85 1  a  growing  anxiety  on  my  father's  part  lest  he  should 
not  much  longer  be  able  to  work  under  Rogers.  He  was 
still  at  that  date,  apparently,  under  his  direction,  for  he  says 
in  a  letter  to  my  mother,  June  15,  185 1 : — 

Do  not  be  uneasy  yet  about  the  Survey,  for  at  the  bottom 
I  can  rest  securely  upon  R.'s  honesty  and  good  will,  altho'  he  is  a 
most  uncomfortable  partner  in  any  work.  If  I  have  made  those 
I  have  been  with  this  winter  half  so  uncomfortable  as  he  has 
sometimes  made  me,  it  is  high  time  that  I  were  under  ground  or 
above  the  clouds. 


The  following  spring,  1852,  my  father  and  Mr.  Rogers 
decided  to  break  their  business  connection,  as  it  had  become 
impossible  for  them  longer  to  work  together.  I  suppose 
also  that  Dr.  Rogers  considered  that  my  father  had  deserted 
him  unwarrantably,  but  I  am  sure  that  such  was  not  the 
case,  and  that  it  had  become  impossible  for  him  longer 
to  continue  in  the  relation  towards  Rogers  which  he  had  held 
for  years.  In  a  letter  of  April  20,  1852,  to  my  mother,  he 
writes  (after  describing  the  final  arrangements  for  this  sepa- 
ration), "I  felt  ...  as  if  I  had  waked  from  a  long  and  fright- 
ful nightmare,  to  find  myself  in  a  summer  morning  among 
the  trees  of  an  orchard,  and  the  birds." 

Possibly  this  breaking  of  business  relations  would  not 
have  caused  the  complete  destruction  of  personal  friendship 
which  afterward  resulted.  Several  years  later,  however, 
when  Dr.  Rogers  published  the  Report  of  the  First  Geo- 
logical Survey,  my  father  and  other  assistants  on  that  sur- 
vey found  that  he  had  not  given    sufficient  credit  for  the 


1853-58  PROFESSIONAL   LIFE  285 

large  share  of  that  work  which  they,   the   assistants,   had 
done. 

Very  possibly  this  fact  was  not  due  to  an  ungenerous 
intention,  but  to  the  theory  that,  since  the  responsibility  of  a 
survey  rested  on  the  head  of  that  survey,  to  him  also  was 
due  the  credit  of  the  work  done. 

However  that  may  have  been,  my  father  felt  that  an 
injustice  had  been  done,  and  one  that  should  be  taken  note 
of.  Therefore,  when  he  published  in  1859  his  "Iron  Man- 
ufacturers' Guide,"  in  its  preface  he  gave  a  stinging  rebuke 
to  the  "so-called  Author"  of  the  Report  of  the  First  Pennsyl- 
vania Survey,  and  enumerated  with  spirited  emphasis  the 
names  and  deeds  of  the  various  assistants  on  that  survey 
unmentioned  in  the  geological  report. 

This  public  criticism  finished  matters.  It  was  an  un- 
forgivable insult.  Thus,  no  doubt.  Dr.  Rogers  considered 
it.  The  breach  was  completed,  and  he  never  spoke  to  my 
father  again. 

I  do  not  know  that  my  father  regretted  what  he  had 
done.  The  truth  as  he  saw  it  demanded  personal  sacrifice, 
and  he  was  ready  to  accept  that.  But  I  know  that  he  suf- 
fered deeply,  nevertheless.  He  never  talked  about  this 
lost  friendship,  and  I  have  had  to  chiefly  construct  my  own 
theory  as  to  the  catastrophe  from  what  I  have  found  in  the 
letters. 

When  he  came  to  write  his  own  Reports  of  the  Second 
Geological  Survey  of  Pennsylvania,  while  fully  carrying  out 
his  thepry  that  credit  should  be  given  to  every  aid  on  his 
survey,  he  took  satisfaction,  in  his  chapter  on  the  history  of 
the  First  Survey,*  in  giving  full  credit  to  Dr.  Rogers  for 
his  great  ability  in  carrying  on  that  work. 

In  1853  my  father  took  his  young  brother  Joseph  as 
assistant  to  himself,  and  very  soon  trained  him  to  be  an 
excellent  aid.     Joseph  later  left  the  profession,  and  became 

*  Second  Geological  Survey  of  Pennsylvania:  Vol.  A,  Historical 
Sketch  of  Geological  Explorations,  chap.  iii.  pp.  53-197.  Note  also  in 
the  same  Volume  A,  in  a  second  edition,  1878,  in  the  preface,  a  letter  from 
William  B.  Rogers,  Jr.,  concerning  the  work  on  the  Final  Report  of  the  First 
Survey. 


286  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

in  after  years  secretary  of  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad.  A 
year  or  two  later  a  nephew  of  my  mother's,  Mr.  Benjamin 
Smith  Lyman,  also  became  his  assistant,  well  known  later 
in  the  scientific  world  as  a  distinguished  geologist.  Mr. 
Lyman  vv^as  also  a  valued  friend,  one  whom  my  father 
throughout  his  life  loved,  honored,  and  trusted. 

In  September,  1856,  my  father  accepted  the  office  of 
secretary  of  the  Iron-masters'  Association,  "with  a  salary 
of  $1,200,"  he  writes.  "I  am  to  be  allowed  my  own  way 
of  doing  things,  and  will  have  half  the  year  to  devote  to 
coal,  etc." 

The  taking  up  of  this  work  involved  the  visiting  of  all 
the  iron  works  of  the  United  States,  and  occupied  many 
months  of  the  two  following  years.  The  financial  crisis 
of  1857  caused  great  distress  in  all  departments  of  activity, 
and  I  judge  that  he  rarely  or  perhaps  never  received  the 
remuneration  for  this  work  which  the  Association  had  in- 
tended. He,  nevertheless,  continued  the  investigation  to 
the  end,  and  published  the  bulky  volume  recording  the 
statistics  of  the  Iron  Industries  up  to  that  date, — a  volume 
considered  of  great  value  by  contemporaries: 

He  had,  however,  in  1856,  before  publishing  the  "Iron 
Manufacturers'  Guide"  (in  1859),  published  his  own  little 
"Coal  Manual,"  a  volume  which  has  always  been  highly 
regarded.  He  evidently  intended  this  first  edition  as  a 
partial  statement,  and  hoped  in  later  editions  to  fill  it  out 
with  fuller  text  and  illustration;  but  a  time  never  came 
when  he  could  do  so,  because  of  the  constant  press  of  busi- 
ness which  filled  his  working  years. 

My  cousin  Benjamin  S.  Lyman,  in  his  biographical 
notice  of  J.  Peter  Lesley,  speaking  of  the  "Manual  of  Coal, 
and  its  Topography,"  says: — 


This  modest  little  octavo  of  224  pages  was,  in  geology, 
an  epoch-making  book  of  the  highest  importance  and  novelty; 
for  it  was  the  first  to  show  how  clearly  and  strongly  the  topography 
often  indicates  the  geological  structure  through  the  varied  effect 
of  the  outcrops  of  underlying  basins  or  saddles  of  harder  or  softer 
rock-beds  upon  the  form  of  the  earth's  surface,  the  mountains, 


1853-58  PROFESSIONAL   LIFE  287 

hills  and  valleys.  He  briefly,  but  no  less  vivaciously  than  cor- 
rectly, describes,  with  many  apt  and  striking  illustrations,  the 
varied  results  of  the  erosion  of  the  outcropping  surfaces  of  rock- 
beds  of  different  hardness  and  disimilar  inclination.  But,  per- 
haps betraying  some  traces  still  at  that  time  of  the  supernatural 
influences  of  his  theological  training,  he  insists,  throughout, 
that  the  erosion  was  done  by  a  cataclysmic  flood  rushing  south- 
ward from  the  Arctic  Ocean,  and  was  accomplished  "  with  infinite 
force  and  speed,  and  ceased  forever,"  in  the  way  Rogers  had 
conjectured.  Lesley,  however,  already  feels  doubt  as  to  the 
correctness  of  Rogers's  twin  conjecture,  that  the  rock-folds  had 
likewise  instantaneously  been  caused  just  previously  by  immense 
waves  of  the  molten  interior  of  the  earth  raised  by  tremendous 
cataclysmic  earthquakes,  waves  rolling  northwestward  and  steep 
on  the  northwest  side,  and  gentle  on  the  southeast;  yet  he  dis- 
plays unstinted  admiration  for  the  grandeur  of  the  idea.  The 
book  also  gives  concisely  his  excellent  practical  methods  of  topo- 
graphical surveying,  the  result  of  his  own  experience  in  an  art 
that  was  at  that  time  little  understood  and  still  less  practised 
in  America,  even  by  engineers  to  whom  topography  was  impor- 
tant. Only  a  small  edition  of  the  book  was  printed ;  and  it  has 
been  too  little  read,  too  seldom  understood,  and  appreciated 
by  too  few.  After  the  lapse  of  some  years,  he  dreamed  of  rewrit- 
ing it,  with  a  young  assistant's  help  in  the  surveying  part.  But 
though  the  plan  was  discussed  from  time  to  time  for  many  years, 
the  moment  of  convenient  leisure  never  came.  Its  careful,  pains- 
taking way  of  really  surveying  and  making  an  accurate  topo- 
graphical map,  in  order  to  study  out  the  geology,  is  distasteful, 
compared  with  the  magical  plan  of  perceiving  the  subterranean 
facts  merely  by  second  sight. 


In  the  summer  of  1855  my  father  began  a  large  survey 
on  the  Broad  Top  Mountain  region,  of  Central  Pennsylvania, 
a  notable  piece  of  geological  work;  "a  minute  survey  and 
contour-line  map  of  the  Broad  Top  semi-bituminous  coal 
fields,  with  over  eleven  thousand  stations  levelled." 

In  1854  their  dear  friend,  Martha  Swan,  became  one 
of  the  family  for  the  year.  She  spent  many  months  of 
future  years  with  them. 

In  the  winter  of  1855  my  grandfather  Lesley  died, — an 
irreparable  loss  to  his  family. 


288  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

During  this  summer  my  father  was  anxious  to  invest 
safely  a  few  thousand  dollars  left  him  by  his  father,  for  the 
good  of  his  family,  and  finds  it  difficult  to  settle  upon  a 
proper  investment.  In  reply  to  what  he  has  written  her 
concerning  this  matter,  I  find  this  answer  characteristic 
of  my  mother: — 

•Jamaica  Plain,  July  2gth,  '55. 

I  can  well  imagine  that  you  should  be  much  troubled  with 
regard  to  purchasing  lands.  I  feel  with  you  that  it  will  be  better 
for  mind  and  soul  to  stick  to  your  profession.  Money  cer- 
tainly gives  great  power,  but  when  the  uncertainty  and  risk  of 
obtaining  it  is  so  great,  it  is  hard  to  have  to  sacrifice  so  much 
time  and  peace  of  mind  to  it,  and  worry  one's  self  with  dealings 
with  people  whom  one  has  no  confidence  in.  There  is  after  all 
something  far  better  in  professional  life,  and  certain  though 
small  gains,  than  all  the  harassing  turmoil,  that  belongs  to  the 
making  of  fortunes. 

About  1857  he  devised  an  aneroid  barometer,  and  sev- 
eral other  mechanical  inventions,  of  which  Mr.  B.  S.  Lyman 

says : — 

About  1857  he  devised  one  that  was  made  for  him  by  the 
skilful  Becker,  and  was  in  successful  use  for  many  years.  It  had 
twelve  vacuum-boxes  and  a  dial  plate  14  in.  in  circumference, 
corresponding  to  only  2  in.  of  the  mercurial  column,  or  about 
2,000  ft.  of  height;  and  was  well  compensated  and  light.  In 
1862  he  experimented  a  little  with  stadia  measurement,  and  was 
convinced  of  its  advantages;  but  encouraged  a  young  assistant 
to  elaborate  the  method  further  within  the  next  two  or  three 
years.  A  highly  convenient  micrometric  pair  of  dividers  for 
plotting  field-notes  was  an  invention  of  Mr.  Lesley's  in  1868, 
and  was  described  by  him  in  a  paper  read  before  the  Philosophical 
Society  in  April,  1873,  and  republished  in  the  R.R.  Register, 
June  28,  1873.  It  was  so  pubHshed  in  order  to  save  his  fellow 
topographers  from  any  risk  of  having  to  pay  a  royalty  to  anybody 
else,  though  he  did  not  desire  a  patent  upon  it  himself. 

Early  in  1858  my  father  was  elected  librarian  of  the 
American  Philosophical  Society, — a  position  which  he  held 


1853-58  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  289 

for  twenty-five  years,  with  enjoyment  to  himself  and  ad- 
vantage, I  may  say,  to  the  society.  During  all  that  period 
he  gave  much  time  and  attention  to  its  affairs.  He  took 
entire  charge  of  its  publications;  and  he  was  a  constant 
attendant  at  the  meetings,  whose  discussions  he  aided  to  the 
best  of  his  ability. 

The  hall  of  the  society  and  its  other  rooms  are  in  an 
old  building  within  the  precincts  of  Independence  Square, 
with  a  view  of  the  tower  of  Independence  Hall  opposite  its 
back  windows.  Here,  in  the  quiet  of  the  old  rooms,  were 
spent  many  hours,  full  of  occupation,  but  from  the  repose 
of  the  place  refreshing  to  the  tired  brain. 

I  had  the  privilege  of  being  my  father's  assistant  in 
this  library  work  for  a  number  of  years,  and  I  have  a  vivid 
remembrance  of  the  tranquillity  of  the  hours  spent  there, 
and  the  chances  for  comparatively  uninterrupted  work. 
It  is  true  that,  when  he  was  known  to  be  there,  there  was  less 
quiet,  and  many  people  came  to  see  him  for  various  reasons. 
But  he  often  sought  the  privacy  of  these  rooms  after  hours, 
and  worked  in  the  peace  which  he  could  gain  nowhere 
else  in  the  city. 

In  his  day  the  rooms  were  surrounded  by  deep  glazed 
bookcases  of  colonial  architecture,  filled  to  overflowing 
with  books  and  magazines,  memoirs  and  brochures,  "Pro- 
ceedings" and  "Transactions"  of  the  scientific  societies 
of  every  civilized  spot  in  the  world.  Above  the  chimney 
places  and  over  the  wide  folding  doors  hung  the  portraits 
of  the  various  presidents  of  the  society,  from  Benjamin 
Franklin,  its  founder,  to  Frederick  Fraley,  who  presided  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  nineteenth  century.  On  a  raised  dais  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  room  stood  Franklin's  leather-covered 
arm-chair,  with  the  president's  table  in  front  of  it.  Below 
the  dais  were  two  baize-covered  tables,  around  which  the 
members  sat  at  the  meetings.  Everything  was  a  little 
shabby, — carpets  and  table-covers  and  old  chairs;  but  it 
was  a  delightfully  retired  and  cheerful  retreat,  with  the  sun- 
shine slanting  in  through  the  large  and  rather  dusty  windows, 
which  on  two  sides  overlooked  Independence  Square. 
Since  those  days  the  old  rooms  have  taken  on  a  more  modern 


290  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

aspect,  have  good  carpets  and  uniform  tables  and  chairs 
and  better-arranged  bookcases,  and  no  doubt  serve  a  greater 
number  of  aspiring  young  men  of  science  and  letters.  In 
our  day  it  was  in  truth  a  rather  sleepy  place:  not  many 
books  were  taken  out,  not  a  great  many  people  attended 
the  meetings.  But  it  had  its  activities  of  a  quiet  kind. 
Many  a  notable  publication  was  brought  forth  under  its 
fostering  care,  and  much  intercourse  with  the  first  scientific 
minds  of  the  age  was  carried  on.  If  the  actively  present 
membership  was  small,  it  was  of  the  kind  that  made  it  a 
most  honorable  body  to  be  numbered  among.  Something 
of  the  flavor  of  those  homely  but  beautiful  old  rooms  will 
hang  round  the  place  for  long. 

The  "Library"  of  the  society  supplied  our  family  with 
interesting  work  for  many  years.  It  had  never  been  properly 
catalogued,  perhaps  had  never  been  catalogued  at  all. 
With  characteristic  energy  my  father  at  once  undertook  to 
provide  a  "card"  catalogue,  and  invented  a  method  of 
classification,  which,  I  think,  might  still  be  useful  in 
connection  with  a  scientific  library.  My  mother  and  Miss 
Swan  used  to  devote  much  time  to  this  card  catalogue.  I 
find  also  from  her  letters  that  in  1858  my  mother  was  as- 
sisting in  making  up  the  Statistical  Tables  of  Forges  and 
Rolling  Mills  for  the  "Iron  Manufacturers'  Guide."  She 
writes  to  Miss  Robbins,  "I  write  four  hours  every  day, 
letting  nothing  hinder."  It  was  always  a  great  delight  to 
her  to  be  able  in  any  way  to  help  on  her  husband's  work. 
She  had  a  beautifully  even  and  clear  handwriting,  and  wrote 
rapidly,  so  that  she  could  often  assist  him  in  copying  lists, 
etc. 

Philadelphia,  Jan.  11,  1853.    Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  HER  Mother. 

In  the  evening  he  [Peter]  read  to  me,  as  I  was  able  to  hear, 
Parker's  sermon  on  Webster,  which  I  think  is  one  of  the  finest 
that  has  been  uttered;  also  Wentworth  Higginson's  Installation 
Sermon,  a  beautiful  discourse,  which  he  sent  us  last  week;  and 
another  very  fine  sermon,  a  farewell  by  the  Rev.  David  Wasson, 
of  Groveland,  Mass.  ...  He  is  evidently  a  Come-outer  from 
Orthodoxy,   and  a  very  original   thinker.     I  was   surprised   to 


i853  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  291 

find  Parker's  sermon  so  very  tender  towards  Webster.  There 
is  none  of  his  usual  bitterness  of  tone  in  it,  he  only  mourns 
sadly  as  any  Christian  must  over  his  fall,  but  casts  no  stones 
and  utters  no  anathemas.  I  have  had  two  or  three  beautiful 
visits  from  Mrs.  Gibbons,  who  is  visiting  Mrs.  Palmer.  She 
is  one  of  the  salt  of  the  earth.  .  .  . 


At  this  period  my  father  and  mother  were  much  occupied 
with  the  sorrows  of  Mary  Walker.  She  was  placed,  soon 
after  their  departure  to  Philadelphia,  with  my  grandmother 
Lyman,  and  lived  with  her  for  many  years.  There  were 
great  efforts  made  by  her  friends  to  obtain  her  children  for 
her, — ^by  purchase, — but,  as  Mary  herself  was  liable  to  be 
arrested  and  returned  to  her  master,  all  the  negotiations  had 
to  be  carried  on  with  great  caution  and  secrecy.  There 
are  many  references  to  this  difficult  business  in  the  letters 
of  this  date  and  later. 

March  9,  1853.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

,  .  .  Oh,  dear!  What  a  horror  and  nightmare  over  the  land  this 
slavery  is!  Some  days  it  oppresses  me  like  a  thick  darkness, 
and  the  hope  seems  so  dim  and  faint.  Now  I  can  understand 
all  the  intense  indignation  of  the  Abolitionists,  all  their  expres- 
sions of  bitterness.  Christ  himself  would  utter  the  same,  were 
he  now  upon  the  earth.  You  must  assure  Mary  that  we  never 
pass  a  day  without  thinking  of  her  and  wishing  to  see  her.  ,  .  . 

[Cambridge,  Mass.]  June  6,  1853.    Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  HER  Husband. 

...  I  must  tell  you  of  the  latest  evidence  of  Robert  G.  Shaw's 

insanity,  in  the  minds  of  R and  other  old  conservative  fogies. 

They  considered  him  a  man  remarkable  for  common  sense  all 
his  lifetime,  and  cannot  account  for  such  a  departure  on  any 
other  hypothesis.  About  an  hour  before  he  died,  he  desired  his 
children  to  be  summoned.  He  then  told  them  he  had  just  had  a 
vision,  in  which  the  other  world  was  revealed  to  him;  that  there 
he  had  seen  multitudes  of  fugitive  slaves,  who  had  not  only 
suffered  much  in  this  world,  but  were  still  suffering  from  the 
remembrance  of  their  woes,  and  the  sorrows  of  those  they  had 
left  behind.  He  then  solemnly  charged  them  (his  children), 
whatever  they  neglected  in  hfe,  never  to  refuse  the  claims  of  the 


292 


LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 


fugitive.     These  were  his  last  words,  and  the  crowning  proof  of 
his  insanity  to  all  but  his  children,  in  the  circle  he  moved  in.  .  .  . 


It  was  the  grandson  of  this  Robert  G.  Shaw  who  died 
at  Fort  Wagner,  leading  his  negro  regiment  to  the  hope- 
less but  glorious  charge,  and  to  whose  memory  Saint- 
Gaudens  has  reared  so  noble  a  tribute. 

New  Florence,  June  15,  1853.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Our  evening  walk  from  the  blacksmith's  shop  to-night, 
over  the  Fishmill  creek  to  Mr.  Hewson's,  neither  Joe  nor  I  will 
soon  forget.  ''This  is  a  place  for  lovers  to  walk  in,"  said  I. 
We  hold  sweet  converse  together,  this  dear  brother  and  I, 
Susie.     He  is  a  treasure  of  treasures  to  me.  .  .  . 

About  three  o'clock  a  tremendous  gust  swept  over  the  valley. 
We  took  refuge  in  a  cottage  with  an  old  man  and  young  woman 
and  little  boy,  whose  hearts  we  made  a  conquest  of, — or  Joe  did, — 
he  comes,  he  sees,  he  conquers  everywhere.  It  is  marvellous 
what  a  magic  is  in  his  smile,  what  wonders  it  works.  .  .  . 

We  crossed  the  hill  to  where  we  had  left  our  instruments, 
and  then  toiled  along  the  road  towards  Fairfield  till  noon,  when 
we  dined  with  a  family  on  a  high  hill,  made  them  laugh  heartily, 
read  "Pickwick"  to  them,  returned  for  shelter  from  another 
thimder-gust,  and  then  the  old  woman  begged  me  to  prescribe 
for  her  daughter.  It  was  my  gold  spectacles, — but  I  couldn't 
laugh,  for  the  poor  girl  had  taken  to  coughing  last  winter.  .  .  . 
I  saw  she  was  destined.  I  prescribed  little  blisters  and  no  drugs, 
and  extra  clothing  at  nightfall. 

Blairsville,  June  19,  1853.    To  his  Wife. 

Graham  is  a  tall,  spare  man  with  a  dark,  kind,  sad  face,  quiet, 
firm,  always  active,  but  noiseless,  and  the  father  of  six  sons 
grown  up,  and  two  yoimger  ones.  He  told  me  that  his  home 
was  all  changed — and  I  saw  it  was — his  wife  died  eighteen 
months  ago.  I  cannot  help  it,  but  whenever  a  man  tells  me 
that,  he  might  almost  as  well  fell  me  with  a  blow  on  the  head.  — 
I  shrink  together  and  feel  a  sort  of  death  envelop  me  in  which  I 
cannot  breathe  or  hope.  The  room  grew  dark  as  he  spoke, 
and  his  dark,  tall,  thin  form  grew  darker,  like  a  black  oak  in  the 
twilight  in  the  woods.  Is  it  because  I  am  so  selfish?  I  think 
not.     But  to  belong  to  some  one,  is  the  deepest  of  human  pas- 


i853  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  293 

sions,  the  most  absolute  of  needs.  .  .  .  To  me  life  is  worthless, 
unless  it  be  devoted  to  making  other  lives  more  real  and  true  and 
good.  To  lose  the  wife  is  to  lose  the  life, — its  end  and  aim,  its 
thole-pin,  its  lynch-pin,  its  mill's  grist — the  hopper  bums  itself 
up  for  want  of  grain  to  grind, — it  is  home  lost — honor,  wealth, 
knowledge  accumulated  in  vain,  wasted.  .  .  . 

Sunday,  June  20,  1853. 

...  At  two  o'clock  we  reached  the  furnace.  Descending 
the  stairs  behind  the  old  and  silent  stack,  we  entered  the  deserted 
village,  a  broad,  grass -grown  street  between  neglected  gardens 
in  which  stood  immense  trees  and  under  these  tenantless  houses. 
It  was  a  scene  beautiful  as  Eden  after  the  first  pair  had  left  it. 
We  walked  on  up  the  great  avenue  towards  a  large  white  house 
embosomed  in  verdure,  and  surrounded  by  a  wilderness  of  roses. 
We  knocked,  but  there  was  no  answer.  The  ground  was  cov- 
ered with  rose-leaves.  We  pushed  through  the  bushes  round 
to  the  other  side  of  the  house,  and  saw  an  old  negro  sitting  on 
the  kitchen  steps.  A  white  woman  then  came  out  and  soon  sat 
down  with  us  to  a  nice  little  dinner,  to  which  we  did  ample  jus- 
tice after  a  bath  on  the  front  steps.  Then  a  man  appeared 
who  led  me  through  a  splendidly  furnished  parlor  upstairs  to 
one  of  a  suite  of  noble  bedrooms,  all  furnished  equally  well.  I 
was  amazed.  We  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  proprietor's 
son,  young  Mathiot,  a  homely,  shy,  thin,  quiet  person,  who 
explained  that  they  had  run  the  furnace  so  long  through  the  hard 
times,  that  now  they  could  not  take  advantage  of  the  present 
high  price  of  iron.  There  were  but  two  other  famihes  therefore 
left  in  the  place.  It  would  be  tedious  to  tell  you  how  comfortably 
we  read  and  wrote  and  supped,  what  a  nice  walk  we  had  in  a 
curious  garden  beyond  the  creek,  and  what  a  pleasant  chat  with 
two  ladies,  who  made  their  appearance  in  the  parlor  in  the  even- 
ing. Our  beds  crowned  all.  Our  morning  breakfast  was  as 
good.  ... 

I  had  not  heard  of  Mrs.  Bigelow's  death,  and  can  comprehend 
the  shock  it  must  have  given  you,  and  aXso— perfectly— the  peace 
and  quiet  faith  it  left  behind  in  your  heart.  I  understand  it  all. 
Yes.  Let  the  universe  roll  and  unroll  and  roll  on,  as  it  must  and 
will,  and  let  nations  and  men  and  women  open  and  close  their 
destinies  in  course  and  season  marked  out,  let  the  inevitable 
envelop  us  as  a  fog  or  a  terrible  thunder  roaring,  we  will  quiedy 
possess  ourselves  in  knowledge  that  the  inevitable  though  inex- 
plicable is  all  right,  that  we  are  at  home  always  in  our  Father's 


294  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

house,   and  nothing  can  harm  us  if  we  be    followers  of  the 
Good.  .  .  . 

The  little  household  at  Philadelphia  had  a  small  and 
uncertain  income  at  this  time,  and  yet  they  seriously  con- 
templated purchasing  (if  it  could  safely  be  accomplished) 
the  young  daughter  of  Mary  Walker,  In  a  letter  of  June 
27,  1853,  I  find  these  words:  "I  am  still  of  the  same  mind 
about  Mary  and  perfectly  willing,  if  you  are,  to  cash  our 
investments  and  buy  her  child.     Why  shoudn't  we  invest  in 

Southern  Securities  as  well  as  the  R s  and  L s  of  the 

land,  with  the  additional  advantage  over  them  of  purchas- 
ing the  soul,  where  they  only  purchase  the  flesh  and  blood?" 
There  were  many  negotiations,  and  some  efforts  made  to 
reach  and  obtain  this  child,  and,  although  it  was  all  in  the 
end  unsuccessful,  quite  large  sums  of  money  (considering  the 
family  income)  were  spent  in  the  attempt.  After  the  Civil 
War,  as  I  have  said  elsewhere,  two  of  these  children  were 
found,  and  joined  the  mother  in  her  Northern  home. 

[Perhaps  Dumm's  Tavern,  Chestnut  Ridge],  July  2,  1853. 
Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  . .  There  sat  beside  me  a  fine-looking,  stout,  fresh,  rather  Ger- 
man countenance,  evidently  accustomed  to  both  city  and  country 
life,  one  who  was  a  commissioner  I  believe  for  a  wool  house  in 
Phil'a,  and  collector  of  dues,  etc.  An  open,  generous-looking, 
intelligent,  powerful  man,  of  45  or  50,  who  began  a  conversation 
with  me,  which  I  enlivened  with  an  episode  on  Irish  brogues  or 
brogans,  and  the  history  of  boots  and  shoes  in  general,  to  which 
he  added  notices  on  sabots,  and  the  talk  wandered  upward  through 
the  various  attire  of  the  sexes,  to  the  caps  and  hats,  and  especially 
to  those  of  the  low  countries,  Friesland  and  thereabouts.  Then 
it  flew  upward,  and  lit  upon  a  higher  theme,  the  towers  of  Ghent, 
and  the  history  of  that  quaint  burgher  city.  Finally  he  gave  me 
his  own  history  {in  petto)  and  said  that  he  was  born  in  Ghent,  so 
many  hours  (Stunden)  from  Brussels  and  so  many  from  the  field 
of  Waterloo,  which  was  fought  when  he  was  there  a  boy,  and 
Louis  the  i8th  was  then  in  Ghent.  His  father  was  from  the 
further  side  of  Russia,  a  Russian,  and  his  mother,  a  Hollander. 
"Why,  how  did  your  father  find  your  mother  out?"  was  my 
involuntary  exclamation — although  had  I  stopped  a  moment  to 


i853  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  295 

reflect  on  the  mystery  of  the  universe  life,  I  need  not  have  put 
the  question,  any  more  than  how  the  Canada  thistle  got  into 
Chester  County. — "Ah,  that's  the  very  question," — said  he 
with  a  serious  sort  of  interested  twinkle, — "he  was  a  political 
refugee,  you  see." 

And  so  it  is.  The  persecutions  of  this  bedevilled  earth,  the 
whips  and  fires  of  politics,  are  but  the  winds  which  scatter  human 
seed  about  far  from  the  family  trees,  and  cause  that  intermixture 
which  is  the  health  and  improvement  of  the  nations.  Bedevilled! 
no — the  earth  is  the  Lord's,  and  the  fulness  thereof — and  the 
cattle  on  a  thousand  hills — that  is — the  statesmen  of  a  thousand 
Capitols,  the  courtiers  of  a  thousand  courts.  Full  of  Providence, 
as  it  is  of  electricity.  Admirable  framework — admirable  motions 
— its  eccentric  wheels,  which  look  so  blundering,  are  its  very  life 
gear,  and  without  their  eccentricity  the  great  pistons  could  not 
for  a  moment  go.  Whatever  is,  is  right.  The  worst  is  best — if 
we  can  but  bear  it — as  God  does.  ... 

Cambridge,  July  5,  1853.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  have  some  beautiful  books  now  reading,  the  only  draw- 
back being  that  I  keep  coming  to  passages  I  want  to  read  with  you. 
The  "Life  and  Letters  of  Niebuhr,"  Henry  Taylor's  "Notes  on 
Life"  and  Brace's  "Life  in  Germany."  I  have  nearly  finished 
the  "Notes  on  Life,"  and  the  other  two  I  read  alternately.  I 
wish  Father  had  them  both,  particularly  Brace's  book.  ...  He 
gives  very  interesting  accounts  of  Neander  and  Tholuck,  also  of 
many  philanthropists,  particularly  of  one  lady  in  Hamburg,  a 
Miss  Sieveking  (?)  who  is  a  second  Dolly  Dix. — He  says  it  is 
much  more  difficult  for  a  woman  to  take  such  a  position  there 
than  here,  for  she  immediately  gets  the  name  of  an  "emancipist" 
— ^which  is  a  term  of  great  contempt,  and  let  her  be  ever  so  pious, 
and  modest,  and  quiet,  in  carrying  out  her  ideas,  she  never  meets 
with  the  respect  that  is  shown  in  England  and  America  to  Mrs. 
Fry  and  Miss  Dix. 

I  am  delighted  with  Niebuhr,  and  so  would  you  be.  Some 
anecdotes  of  his  childhood,  I  long  to  write  you,  but  it  would  tire 
me  too  much.  There  is  a  splendid  essay  on  Children  and  their 
Education  in  Taylor,  which  has  moved  me  much.  .  ,  . 

Blairsville,  July  16,  1853.     Father  to  Mother. 

How  beautiful  are  your  letters!  The  one  of  Wednesday, 
which  I  have  this  moment  read,  is — I  will  not  tell  you  what  it  is, 


296  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap.  Xiv 

lest  you  become  puffed  up.  It  is  a  perfect  thing  in  its  way,  I 
assure  you, — and  a  positive  garden  of  Eden  in  mine,  verstehst  dti? 
Your  resume  of  Niebuhr's  life  is  a  masterpiece.  Gretchen,  Amelia, 
Mad.  Hensler  (whom  however  I  never  could  forgive  for  not 
becoming  Niebuhr's  wife)  stand  out  against  the  gray  confused 
background  crowd  of  German  literati,  politicians,  poet-philoso- 
phers. 

In  olden  times,  monarchy  and  the  ancestral  worship  made 
isolated  statues  of  the  great  names,  and  we  have  no  task  in  looking 
up  and  outlining  the  Caesars,  Sardanapali,  Davids,  Aarons, 
Achilles.  But  when  democracy  lifts  all  to  the  level  of  the  bard 
and  baron,  and  every  man  shouts  his  own  name,  reads  his  own 
philosophy,  announces  his  discoveries,  states  his  opinions,  shoul- 
ders his  musket,  and  lynches  his  naughty  neighbor  with  his  own 
hand, — to  read  history  becomes  not  merely  a  task,  but  an  im- 
possibility. Hence  the  specialties  in  which  our  historians  and  biog- 
raphers now  indulge.  Thus  must  [it  be.]  Everything  has  become 
microscopic,  for  democracy  makes  the  atom  noble,  and  sees  the 
spirit  of  life  not  in  the  whole,  but  in  its  ultimate  constituents. 
Hence  the  little  Gretchen  becomes  historic,  like  Juno,  and  Aspasia, 
and  Marie  Antoinette.  I  am  equally  charmed  with  Guizot's 
Corneille.  He  draws,  under  the  same  democratic  impulse  of 
the  age,  the  titbits  of  the  landscape  so  large  and  round,  that  they 
fill  the  eye  as  much  as  would  kingdoms  and  pageants.  And  he 
can  masterly  evolve,  from  the  occurrences  of  the  boudoir  and 
green-room,  the  laws  by  which  European  civilization  is  reaching 
its  development. 

I  never  told  you  how  Jackson  talked  about  Kossuth.  .  .  .  Kos- 
suth, he  said,  was  a  glorious  being,  but  bound  still  by  some  very 
strict  and  narrow  views.  Especially  he  has  never  freed  himself 
from  the  prejudices  of  government.  [His  belief  in]  its  necessity,  or 
rather  the  necessity  of  its  infinite  and  eternal  painstaking  solici- 
tude for  the  poor  helpless  people — is  a  great  drawback  to  his 
advancing  spirit.  "What  strikes  you  as  the  most  wonderful 
development  of  life  on  this  side  the  planet,  Mr.  Kossuth?" 
— asked  Jackson.  The  question  roused  him — he  pricked  his 
ears,  and  began  to  speak.  "Freedom; — the  immense  boundless 
freedom  of  the  development  itself" — he  replied;  "the  room — 
the  liberty  to  do  as  one  likes — the  unconsciousness  of  constraint 
from  a  superior  organization  or  government — the  restless  move- 
ment of  the  whole  population,  free  to  move  and  not  drugged  to 
keep  it  quiet."  This  was  his  endless  astonishment.  And  when 
I  am  disposed  to  scoff  at  the  half-done-up  look  of  all  things  in 


i%3  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  297 

these  villages,  from  a  dining  fork  to  a  church  and  its  preacher, 
— and  sigh  for  the  urbanity,  arts,  landscapes,  ruins  and  associa- 
tions of  the  old  world,  and  lament  that  I  am  not  wealthy  enough 
to  take  you  to  England  and  France,  to  live  and  die — I  am  checked 
and  satisfied  again  by  the  same  wonder  which  fell  upon  Kossuth. 
Here  is  an  embryonic  world,  a  strong  man-child  of  the  future, 
born  of  a  weak  mother  of  the  past.  Here  are  to  be  the  work- 
shops, and  here  also  the  museums  of  the  Millennium.  Here  new 
forms  of  human  society  are  to  appear,  and  prove  the  world  not 
to  be  decrepit — that  God  is  not  yet  dead.  Here  is  to  rise  the 
river  of  Hfe,  for  the  healing  of  all  nations.  We  are  born  upon 
its  laurel-covered  banks.  The  laurels  are  to  disappear.  Cities, 
cathedrals,  palaces  (of  the  people),  arts  and  sciences,  are  to  grow 
like  elms  and  pines  upon  its  meadows  and  mountain  sides.  It 
is  a  goodly  land,  the  best  for  freemen,  the  best  for  future  men  to 
live  in,  and  I  will  not  go  back — go  back  into  the  luxurious  feudal- 
ism of  Europe,  or  the  effete  childish  barbarism  of  Asia,  to  find 
a  happiness  vmworthy  of  the  manhood  of  a  man  whose  youth  was 
spent  in  young  America.  .  .  . 

Last  night  I  lay  in  bed  and  read  to  him  [Joe]  Emerson's 
"Threnody."  He  lay  quite  still  and  I  thought  he  was  asleep, 
but  he  was  not.  This  morning  I  found  him  reading  it  himself. 
What  a  stout  fable  that  is : — 

"The  former  called  the  latter  'Litde  Prig.'"  "Neither  can 
you  crack  a  nut." — And  that  exquisite  "Forbearance." 

"Hast  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun?  Loved  the 
wood-rose,  and  left  it  on  its  stalk?  At  rich  men's  tables  eaten 
bread  and  pulse?"  etc.  "Then  be  my  friend — and  teach  me  to 
be  thine,"  goes  right  to  the  heart.  We  say  that  to  the  dear  Father 
in  Heaven,  with  an  infinite  enlargement  of  desire,  hope  and  joy. 
Oh  .  .  .  the  desire  to  become  good — perfect,  becomes  at  length  a 
passion — an  absorbing  passion.  What  an  easy  thing  is  martyr- 
dom then!  provided  it  be  quick.  It  is  slow  martyrdoms  that 
weary  down  virtue  and  aspiration.  These  are  the  devil's  bailiffs, 
making  so  many  rogues  and  mad  people,  prostitutes,  trade-thieves 
and  hypocrites.  God  save  us  from  slow  misery,  for  who  can 
endure  it?  .  .  . 

Cambridge,  July  20,  1853.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

This  morning  came  your  fine  letter  of  Saturday  and  Sunday. 

I  longed  to  sit  down  at  once,  and  answer  it,  .  .  .  but  Mrs.  Morison 

arrived  to  spend  the  day,  and  Wm.  Ware  and  Chauncey  Wright 

dropped  in,  it  being  Commencement  Day,  and  the  sounds  of  music 


298  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

on  the  Common,  all  made  the  day  seem  a  confused  one;  so  I  gave 
up  my  portfolio.  .  .  . 

I  am  sorry  you  wish  that  Madame  Hensler  had  married  Nie- 
buhr;  you  would  not  could  you  read  the  letters.  .  .  . 

To-day  is  Phi  Beta  day,  and  I  hope  that  Mother  will  go  to  hear 
Mr.  Bellows,  who  is  the  Orator  of  the  day.  .  .  . 

Here  is  an  undated  letter  of  my  father's,  containing  the 
following  judgment  in  regard  to  his  own  literary  ability: — 

What  you  say  about  my  writings  is  very  true;  they  are  too 
careful,  you  might  have  said  careworn;  but  it  is  an  ingrained 
fault;  it  resides  in  my  thinking  and  speaking,  and  therefore  must 
appear  also  when  I  write.  I  am  sorry  for  it,  and  especially  since 
it  robs  me  of  what  I  hoped  would  be  my  crowning  pleasure,  and 
in  fact  for  which  almost  alone  I  now  write, — your  approbation, — 
I  mean  by  your  pleased  applause.  When  you  smile,  I  am  proud. 
If  you  would  dance,  I  would  pipe  all  day.  But  when  you  seem 
to  put  your  hands  to  your  ears — why,  what  remains  for  me  to  -do, 
but  to  break  my  flute?  The  sustained  elevation  of  Gibbon  or 
Guizot,  even  the  cold  classica-1  faultlessness  of  Everett,  excite  my 
admiration,  but  my  training  has  forever  forbid  them  to  my  pen. 
I  must  use  my  own  style,  which  is  like  myself,  impetuous,  irreso- 
lute, zigzag  often,  full  of  solecisms,  a  sort  of  flying-fish  dashes  at 
the  upper  air,  followed  rapidly  by  modest  and  homely  flipflaps  in 
the  lower  water.  But  all  readers  have  their  writers,  and  all 
writers  their  readers,  and  it  is  no  slight  honor  to  be  called  "sug- 
gestive," and  it  is  not  well  to  torture  one's  self  too  much  with  intro- 
spection. An  author  will  find  himself  among  too  many  wildcats, 
as  soon  as  he  hies  out,  without  turning  his  own  claws  against 
himself.  I  have  such  a  horror  of  slovenliness  in  writing  or  think- 
ing, that  I  am  always  in  danger  of  primness. 

I  think  this  is  apropos  to  a  chapter  on  Music  which  he 
had  sent  to  my  mother  early  in  August,  and  which  she 
"read  with  real  enjoyment,"  but  criticises,  after  a  sort, 
thus:  "The  last  half  of  all  you  write  is  always  better  than 
the  first.  It  was  so  with  your  sermons  and  lectures.  You 
get  up  the  steam  as  you  advance,  and  I  doubt  not  that  the 
alternations  of  dull  and  vivid  are  quite  as  important  in  a 
book  as  in  a  landscape." 


i853  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  299 

» 

BlAiRSViLLE,  Sunday,  Aug.  14,  1853.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

You  say  .  .  .  that  you  are  so  old-fashioned  as  both  to  believe 
and  rejoice  in  the  superintending  care  of  the  All  Good.  I  rather 
think  that  is  the  newest  fashion,  likewise.  It  is  a  faith  so  natural 
to  Man,  that  everybody  has  it,  and  it  is  never  supplanted  but  by 
the  most  elaborate  and  systematic  force.  It  is,  however,  certainly 
not  in  many  so-  calm  and  effective  a  principle  of  hfe  as  I  think  it 
is  in  you,  nor  will  I  pretend  that  it  has  remained  to  me  a  machinery 
of  practical  comfort,  as  it  was  some  years  ago.  In  lieu  of  it,  I 
have  what  jor  me  answered  better,  namely  an  ever -strengthening 
stoicism.  I  feel  more  and  more  content  to  have  things  worked 
out  according  to  their  natures ;  I  do  not  assert  to  myself  either  the 
abstract  proposition  that  as  a  whole  things  are  best  arranged  or 
best  natured;  on  the  contrary  I  rather  think  this  world,  or  any 
other,  might  be  improved,  or  have  "been  originally  constructed  on 
better  principles;  I  do  not  know  nor  care.  Whatever  is, — let  it  be. 
The  remedy  is  in  one's  self.  Mohammed  can  go  to  the  Mountain. 
In  old  orthodox  quaintness — if  God  will  not  as  we  will,  why  then 
we  will  will  as  God  wills,  and  so  again  all  will  be  well.  One  comes 
very  near  hereby  to  shaking  hands  with  Mad.  Guyon,  only  I 
think  it  is  rather  from  above  than  from  below; — but  that  may  be 
"Spiritual  pride."  Any  way — it  amounts  practically  to  the  same 
faith  in  Providence,  or  Law  and  Order,  wise  and  good, — which 
founds  the  virtue  and  happiness  of  all  the  innumerable  faithful, 
who  have  learned  in  this  way  not  to  kick  too  hard  against  the 
pricks.  And  now,  dearest  friend,  you  may  be  quietly  smiling, 
and  sadly  too,  to  think  how  soon  you  may  see  all  this  stoicism 
and  pseudo-faith  disgraced  and  overthrown,  and  lying  breathless 
on  the  ground,  in  some  instant  unexpected  and  inevitable  calamity. 
Well.  But  herein  lies  our  real  immortality;  there  is  a  well-spring 
of  will  and  hope  and  faith  within  us,  which  may  disappoint  him 
who  comes  in  a  hot  day  to  drink  and  finds  nothing  there  but  fetid 
mud,  and  the  tramphngs  of  oxen's  feet — but  will  run  again  in  a 
week  or  a  month  as  copious  and  clear  and  sweet  a  rill  as  ever. 
He  who  sweats  and  thirsts  on  wooded  mountains  many  years, 
can  never  lose  his  faith  in  man's  immortal  courage;  it  has  too  many 
visible  analogies  in  nature.  .  .  . 

You  tell  me  Susan  is  doing  well — ^in  both  senses.  I  thank 
God,  and  take  courage.  I  half  believe  that  when  I  am  an  old 
decrepit  man  sitting  all  day  in  a  well-worn  arm-chair,  my  volatile 
and  restless  nature  fixed  like  carbonic  gas  into  a  solid,  snow-cold 
equanimity,  she  will  be  briskly  moving  round  me  like  a  bright 


300  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

planet  round  a  gone-out  sun,  and  returning  me  the  little  borrowed 
light  and  heat  I  have  ever  been  so  happy  as  to  give  her." 

Latrobe,  Sunday,  Aug.  28,  1853.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  You  wish  to  controvert  some  things  in  my  last?  It  is 
needless.  The  same  actual  landscape  is  a  different  ideal  from 
different  points  of  view.  All  are  equally  true.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  positive  truth.  It  is  always  relative  and  conditional. 
This  fact,  while  it  explains  the  innumerable  ethics  and  metaphysics 
of  men,  allows  infinite  latitude  also  to  the  freedom  of  the  individual. 
It  is  my  belief  that  God  doesn't  disturb  himself  about  the  ways 
and  thoughts  and  sufferings  of  men,  except  by  a  sort  of  ubiqui- 
tous sympathy.  He  is,  in  this  view,  at  once  Himself  and  all  men. 
Having  set  laws  to  all  things,  it  is  his  delight  to  see  them  work, 
nor  can  what  we  call  evil  or  sin  interfere  with,  but  only  illustrate 
their  working.  If  we  be  also  little  gods,  little  lower  than  the 
angels,  we  are  free  to  think  and  do  what  we  please,  and  reap  the 
weal  or  woe  accordingly;  but  as  for  His  interfering,  I  cannot  think 
it, — except  in  the  way  of  sympathy;  which,  after  all,  is  all  we  could 
wish  to  ask  of  any  being  whom  we  reverence  and  love.  If  I  were 
to  pluck  my  wife  from  a  destruction,  in  which  I  thereby  perished 
myself,  all  I  could  ask  to  make  me  happy  in  it,  would  be  to  see 
the  love  and  sympathy  shed  upon  me  by  her  eyes.  So  with  God, 
all  I  want  is  for  him  to  know  and  love  me — not  to  superintend 
my  dairy  and  brickyard.  That  sort  of  special  providence  is  a 
great  annoyance  to  me.  I  want  him  to  let  me  alone — but  to 
sympathize,  console  and  strengthen  me.  .  .  . 

Gatiss's  on  Towanda  Mt.,  Sunday  Morning,  Sept.  18,  1853. 
Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

Yesterday  was  the  34th  anniversary  of  my  birthday  .  .  .  We 
have  been  working  in  the  heart  of  the  hemlock  forest,  imtouched 
by  the  hand  of  man,  dense,  dark,  silent,  full  of  marshes  and  rills, 
undergrown  with  endless  forms  of  mosses  and  fungi,  paved  with 
immense  prostrate  mouldering  trunks  and  branches  without 
number,  and  broken  rocks  by  the  thousand  ton,  infinitely  old  and 
gray.  Deer  browse  in  the  brier  patches,  and  in  the  laurel  swamps 
in  winter,  or  dash  over  the  knolls  at  full  gallop.  Bears  lurk  in 
the  low  places.  Wolves  and  wildcats  are  plenty.  Pigeons 
rustle  from  tree  top  to  tree  top,  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the  meeting 
roof  of  hemlock  boughs,  far  up.     Rattlesnakes  and  copperheads 


i8s3  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  301 

crawl  over  the  cliffs,  whereon  the  table-land  breaks  down  to  the 
ravine  or  main  valley.  The  north  side  of  the  whole  mountain 
overlooking  Towanda  creek  is  alive  with  black  snakes.  Porcu- 
pines are  everywhere.  Such  is  the  projecting  finger  of  the  great 
forest  body  which  stretches  hence  westward,  over  all  Sullivan, 
Potter,  Lycoming  and  Elk  Counties.  How  vast  is  the  interval 
that  separates  this  animated  nature  from  the  art  of  cities!  Analo- 
gies exist  between  them,  and  between  their  corresponding  details 
— rank  growth,  desperate  rottenness,  multitude,  belong  to  both, 
and  the  solitude  and  silence  of  the  soul  is  as  sincere  sometimes 
in  New  York  as  that  of  the  sense  is  here;  and  windfalls  rive 
alleys  through  cities  in  pestilential  seasons,  as  they  do  through 
the  forest  in  storms.  But  the  hum  and  roar  of  that  immense 
cascade  of  life — a  city — so  wearing  to  the  stoutest  soul,  is  here 
a  remembered  sound,  as  is  the  ordinary  rustle  and  whaugh  of  the 
wind,  round  the  house  comer,  or  through  the  soHtary  apple-tree. 
In  such  a  wood  as  this,  infinitely  old,  interminable  and  immutable 
as  it  seems,  a  whole  world'  in  itself  of  ancient  and  natural  life, 
the  man  walks  beneath  its  canopy,  in  its  silence  and  over  its  floor 
in  a  perpetual  reverie,  in  converse  with  the  beginnings  and  mean- 
ings of  things;  not  questioning,  for  all  seems  right;  not  doubting, 
for  all  is  real;  not  hoping,  for  nothing  other  or  new  seems  possible; 
nor  fearing,  for  it  is  a  world  at  peace,  in  order  and  evidently  obe- 
dient to  man's  slightest  wish;  his  will  is  the  master,  in  this  ances- 
tral hall.  How  often  have  I  longed  for  a  home  on  earth,  which 
my  Fathers  owned,  and  my  children  might  inherit!  Here  it  is. 
This  is  my  father's  dwelling-place,  the  bosom  of  nature,  the  verit- 
able paradise.  I  am  never  a  freeman,  until  I  re-enter  this  my 
castle;  then  I  defy  the  tyrannies,  and  no  longer  pines  my  soul  at 
the  disorders  and  woes  of  the  race.  The  great  primeval  forest, 
the  mountain  upland,  the  swamp,  the  lake,  the  glen,  the  fall,  the 
crag,  the  windfall,  the  cave,  the  trail,  the  lick,  the  cabin — these 
are  the  true  ancestral  home  of  man. 

Gatiss's,  Sept.  20,  1853.    To  His  Wife. 

...  I  also  am  very  happy,  in  my  work.  .  .  .  Sunday  we  rested, 
it  was  a  bright,  calm,  quiet  day.  I  preached  a  little  sermon  to 
them  all,  four  or  five  famihes  of  Enghsh  people,  in  the  school- 
house,  an  old  deserted  log  hut  nearby.  In  the  evening  I  plotted 
our  fines  out,  and  we  pasted  up  a  levelling  rod  with  white  paper 
in  lieu  of  paint,  and  inked  the  feet  and  tenths  upon  it.  .  .  . 


302  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

Cambridge,  Sept.  26,  1853.     Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

. . .  Had  a  delightful  visit  from  David  and  Maria  Child  on  Sat- 
urday. She  told  me  many  pleasant  things,  and  gave  me  a  "Life 
of  Friend  Hopper."  "Tell  Peter,"  she  said  as  she  went  laughing 
out  of  the  room,  "  that  I  am  as  wabid  a  wadical  as  ever,  and  give 
him  my  love." — ^Poor  David!  poor,  broken  down,  trembling  old 
man!  He  kissed  me  fervently,  as  he  bent  over  my  bed,  stroked 
my  hair,  and  said  "  God  bless  you,  dear  Susie." 

Would  not  my  story  of  Cuvier's  meeting  with  the  Devil,  after 
he  left  this  world,  come  in  nicely,  somewhere  in  your  chapter 
on  the  Devil?  Theodore  Parker  sent  me  by  Sarah  Hunt  last 
week  a  splendid  bunch  of  fringed  gentians,  with  his  regards; 
but  they  got  pitched  out  of  the  omnibus,  and  trodden  in  the  dust. 
I  am  reading  a  dear  little  quiet  book,  called  "Cranford,"  and 
learning  a  beautiful  poem  to  wile  away  the  long  night  hours  with, 
every  verse  of  which  ends  with  these  lines, 

"For  God,  thro'  ways  they  have  not  known, 
Will  lead  his  own." 

In  November  the  first  child  was  born, — a  girl, — and  a 
new  kind  of  happiness  came  to  the  little  household.  My 
father  and  mother  both  had  a  great  love  for  children.  They 
were  very  shy  of  making  advances  toward  the  little  people 
with  whom  they  came  in  contact,  waiting  until  some  re- 
ciprocal interest  was  shown  on  the  child's  part.  I  have 
seen  my  father  watch  a  child  with  silent  attention  many  min- 
utes, and  then  cautiously  begin  an  acquaintance  with  a  sign 
of  friendliness,  or  a  question  gently  spoken.  He  respected 
its  individuality  too  much  to  demand  any  recognition  of 
friendship  suddenly.  They  reprobated  talking  about  chil- 
dren before  their  faces,  either  in  praise  or  blame,  or  simple 
comment,  for  they  prized  greatly  the  unconsciousness  and 
simplicity  of  childhood,  and  would  run  no  risks  of  spoiling 
those  children  with  whom  they  had  to  do  by  such  careless 
speeches.  They  had  greatly  longed  for  children,  and  now 
that  this  little  daughter  came  they  fully  rejoiced  in  her 
possession,  and  the  letters  between  them  are  frequently  full 
cf  hopes,  fears,  and  plans  concerning  her. 

Almost  immediately  after  the  birth  of  the  child,  my  father 


i8s4  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  303 

returned  to  field  work,  which  continued  until  winter's  cold 
drove  him  back  to  town. 

In  January  of  1854  he  took  a  trip  south  on  business. 

He  did  not  like  the  South,  and  even  the  genial  hospi- 
tality of  its  inhabitants  could  not  make  up  to  him  for  the 
aristocratic  social  forms  and  theories  of  life  which  were 
alien  to  his  belief  in  the  equality  of  personal  opportunities 
and  rights.  In  one  letter  he  remarks:  "A  certain  coarse- 
ness and  rudeness  runs  like  broad  smooch  lines  across  all 
this  southern  life.  I  observe  it  here,  as  in  Richmond,  and 
Washington,  and  in  Virginia,  as  I  did  last  spring  in  Georgia 
and  Tennessee." 

Wythe,  Va.,  Feh.  21,  1854.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  beguiled  my  ride  this  morning  with  book-making.  You 
laugh, — ^but  in  fact  it  is  time  for  me  to  write. — ^First,  a  small 
book  on  Coal* — Chapter  i.     Its  position. 

Chapter  2.     Its  quality. 

Chapter  3.  Its  history,  past,  present,  et  avenir. 
Then  a  book  on  Topography. — ^Both  small  manuals,  practical, 
saleable,  and  such  as  will  best  do  for  advertisements — for  what 
else  are  books  now  written  for.  No  Epopoea  can  be  born  in  an 
iron  and  coal  age. 

The  spring  of  1854  seems  to  have  been  a  hard  one  for 
him.  Whether  the  discomforts  and  exposure  of  the  winter 
month  or  two  among  the  Virginia  mountains  had  exhausted 
his  strength,  the  letters  do  not  say,  but  my  mother,  in  a 
letter  to  Miss  Robbins,  writes:  "He  has  had  on  the  whole  a 
miserable  spring,  suffering  more  from  nervous  exhaustion 
than  at  any  time  since  we  left  Milton."  In  May  he  took 
short  trips  into  Ohio  and  Virginia  and  New  England,  and 
in  June  he  started  on  a  longer  journey,  going  by  way  of 
Chicago  to  St.  Louis. 

Monroeville,  Ohio,  May  30,  1854.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wiee. 

Here  once  more  in  New  England!  How  plain  and  dear  is 
the  welcome-home!    from  the  white  cottages  and  pillars,  gardens 

*  This  may  be  his  first  thought  of  the  "Coal  Manual,"  published  later. 


304  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

and  neat  fences.  There  is  music  in  the  very  slang  and  snuffle — 
suppressed  as  they  are.  I  have  ridden — whirled  through  the 
garden  of  the  Earth  to-day.  I  am  enchanted  with  the  fertility, 
beauty,  freshness,  largeness,  homishness  of  the  land.  The  houses 
are  seldom  seen  from  the  railroad,  they  are  all  over  the  country. 
The  villages  are  groups  of  workshops,  mills,  factories,  iron-works, 
but  clean  and  wealthy-looking,  not  squalid,  tasteless,  reckless 
masses  of  brick  and  ruined  stucco  and  filth  piles,  as  in  Pennsyl- 
vania. .  .  . 

I  rode  yesterday  till  after  midnight,  having  in  the  dark  a  long 
discussion  with  a  Southeastern  Ohio  man  (Irish  ?)  on  Nebraska,  he 
referring  it  to  the  Pope,  and  upholding  law  and  order,  etc.  Ev- 
erybody talks  about  it;  mostly  with  caution,  as  if  it  were  danger- 
ous to  say  much, — or  difficult, — but  commonly  remarking  that 
the  Boston  riot  is  but  the  beginning  of  its  evils.  I  can  as  yet  get 
no  later  telegraphic  news  than  Sunday  evening.  I  hope  to  hear 
that  poor  Burns*  has  been  rescued, — ^but  hope  against  hope, — 
for  the  New  Englanders  are  not  brave  like  their  ancestors — they 
have  become  cowardly,  through  trade  and  unbelief.  Ideas  are 
not  longer  worth  blood  and  life.  Dollars  are  worth  more.  They 
have  too  much  to  lose  in  this  world,  and  too  little  to  gain  in  an- 
other— to  endanger  their  lives  even  for  liberty.  Honor,  to  the 
Southerner,  stands  in  place  of  the  old  Northerner's  faith, — ^there- 
fore he  [the  Southerner]  continues  to  be  rather  brave.  But  the 
New  Englander  dare  not  fight  a  duel,  nor  commit  suicide,  nor  stab 
a  tyrant,  because  he  has  lost  his  paradise  reward.  .  .  . 

In  St.  Louis  he  remained  a  week  or  ten  days,  and  made 
some  surveys  in  the  low  lands  of  the  river  bottom.  The 
labor  and  heat,  and  incautiously  working  after  sunset  in 
order  to  finish  his  work  rapidly,  caused  him  to  fall  a  victim 
to  malaria.  .  He  had  a  series  of  violent  chills  and  fever  im- 
mediately on  the  conclusion  of  this  piece  of  work,  which 
much  exhausted  him,  and  for  the  remainder  of  Lis  life  he 

*  "Then  came  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  under  which  runaway  slaves 
were  arrested,  tried  here,  and  sent  back  to  their  owners;  the  last  and  bit- 
terest case  being  that  of  Anthony  Burns,  who,  guarded  by  a  marshal's  posse 
of  hired  roughs,  by  United  States  troops  and  by  our  best  Massachusetts 
militia,  acting  from  a  sense  of  duty  and  in  obedience  to  law,  was  marched 
from  the  Court  House  in  Boston  to  the  United  States  revenue  cutter  lying 
at  the  wharf  and  bound  for  Virginia."  (^From  address  by  Major  Henry 
Lee  Higginson,  delivered  in  Sanders  Theatre,  Cambridge,  May  30,  1897.) 


i854  PROFESSIONAL   LIFE  305 

was  troubled   by  similar  attacks,  whenever  in  a  depressed 
condition  of  health. 

In  St.  Louis  he  met  pleasant  friends  in  Dr.  William 
Ehot  and  his  family  and  Judge  ICrum  and  his  household, 
who  made  him  at  home  whenever  he  had  a  free  hour  from 
his  business. 

Waverly,  Monday,  9  o'clock  [July  10,  1854].    To  his  Wife. 

. . .  What  do  you  think  I  do  with  myself  these  long  two  hundred 
and  fifty  mile  railroad  rides?  Can  you  think?  Don't  you  won- 
der? To-day  I  have  read  the  livelong  day,  and  am  ashamed 
of  myself,  for  no  ordinary  eyes — no  brain — can  stand  it.  I  have 
exhausted  Sophocles'  History  of  the  Greek  Alphabet,  and  made 
additional  improvements  (!  ?)  of  my  own.  Moreover  I  read  the 
Tribune  all  through,  and  the  Herald  out.  Digested  all  the  Eu- 
ropean news,  settled  to  my  mind  the  Eastern  question,  resolved 
what  should  be  done  with  Cuba,  organized  the  new  RepubHcan 
Party  in  the  North,  and  held  a  jury  of  one  upon  all  the  fires, 
murders,  petty  larcenies  and  gigantic  Schuyler  frauds  of  the  last 
forty-eight  hours.     Amen. 

TowANDA,  July  II,  1854.  To  HIS  Wife. 
. . .  This  afternoon  I  have  slept  most  of  the  time,  and  then  Over- 
ton came,  and  after  looking  over  my  notes  a  Httle  longer  I  went 
up  to  his  house  to  take  tea  with  another  Englishman,  Wandsey, 
with  whom  I  formed  an  abolition  alliance  against  our  host,  who 
had  need  of  all  his  politeness  to  restrain  himself  even  within  the 
bounds  of  decency  in  his  denunciation  of  fanatics  and  political 
clergymen.  For  you  must  know  that  at  three  o'clock,  4th  of  July, 
the  people  rang  the  bells,  and  at  five  o'clock  the  Episcopal  Clergy- 
man (a  fine  fellow  whom  I  know)  Douglass  (Robt.  Parvin's 
successor)  began  to  toll  his  church  bell,  and  immediately  all  the 
other  bells  began  to  toll;  which  aroused  a  great  tumult,  and  the 
bells  were  stopped  as  soon  as  possible,  but  leaving  the  ears  of  a 
great  many  people  very  tender.  Wandsey  has  been  here  these 
twenty-five  years,  so  that  I  was  delighted  to  find  him  right  side  up. 

TowANDA  Mt.,  July  14,  1854.     To  his  Wife. 

The  lark  is  naturalized  in  Delaware  at  last,  and  is  singing  its 
matin  hallelujahs  as  on  the  plains  of  Bayeux  and  Liitzen. 

Yesterday,  weary  with  everything,  I  took  up  an  old  beautiful 
English  print  of  Bunyan's  "Pilgrim,"  and  read  the  conversations 


3o6  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

of  the  friends  Christian  and  Faithful  approaching  Vanity  Fair, 
and  I  thought  it  never  had  been  half  so  beautiful,  holy,  chaste, 
tasteful  and  edifying.  I  read, — as  I  drink  cool  water  in  a  hot 
day.  There  is  something  in  all  that, — which  answers  to  deep 
wants  in  the  soul.  There  is  more  truth  and  propriety  in  Bible 
words  and  orthodox  quotations,  in  such  hands  as  the  Martyrs 
of  Smithfield  and  Bedford,  than  we  usually  allow.  How  excel- 
lent is  the  analysis  of  Talkative!  Give  me,  after  all,  the  simple 
Christianity  of  John  Bunyan,  and  let  science,  Hterature,  and  the 
arts  bless  whom  they  may;   I  will  envy  none  of  them. 

TowANDA,  Gatiss's,  Sunday,  July  i6,  1854.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Do  you  not  think  huckleberrying  one  of  the  best  ways  of 
spending  Sunday  known  to  man?  I  do.  When  alone, — how- 
ever. Many's  the  Sunday  I  have  lost  myself  in  thought  and  in 
a  huckleberry  patch — as  I  did  this  morning — on  some  mountain 
top.  The  hands  are  busy.  So  is  the  mind.  So  is  the  heart. 
Working  all  different  ways,  but  in  such  harmony.  Silence,  such 
at  least  as  Nature  loves, — not  ultra  silence, — but  a  gentle  mur- 
muring, mixed  of  bees,  and  flies,  and  wind-stirred  leaves,  the 
rustle  of  a  young  covey  of  partridges,  or  a  hedgehog,  or  a  striped 
and  checkered  snake,  or  a  red  bunt  squirrel.  Kneeling  on  the 
half-bared  rocks  and  selecting  the  ripest  blues — in  the  shade  of 
some  hemlock-tree — or  beside  some  immense  prostrate  and  black- 
ened tree  stem, — in  the  cooling  wind, — ^with  a  world  of  open  coun- 
try down  below  spread  out  to  gaze,  valley,  hills,  innumerable 
fields,  meadows,  orchards,  scattered  houses,  and  in  the  distance, 
other  high  mountains.  Gratitude  springs  up  like  water  from 
a  well.  One  feels  the  providence  that  feeds  the  birds  and  bears, 
on  a  succession  of  delicious  fruit.  Faith,  Hope — and  Love  is 
never  far  away  from  the  pair — are  natives  to  the  place.  The 
air  is  full  of  worship. 

Philadelphia,  July  29,  1854.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  was  disappointed  after  going  so  far,  to  find  the  church 
doors  closed.  I  then  kept  on  and  spent  the  morning  and  dined 
with  Edward  Lesley.  .  .  .  He  says  De  Gerando  *  astonishes  him. 

*  De  Gerando,  Marie  Joseph  (1772-1842).  Distinguished  ethical 
and  metaphysical  philosopher  of  France.  .  .  .  Two  of  his  great  books 
were  "Histoire  Comparee  des  Systemes  de  Philosophie  relativement  aux 
Principes  des  Connaissance  Humaine";  and  "Du  Perfectionnement  Moral, 
§t  1' Education  de  soi-meme."  .  .  ,  {From  EncyclopcBdia  Britannica.) 


i854  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  307 

Every  sentence  so  good,  the  whole  so  tiresome.  Three  hundred 
and  eighty  pages  of  abstraction?  Well,  I  offered  to  take  it  home; 
and  as  I  walked  I  read — the  chapter  on  Obedience  and  Inde- 
pendence,— the  most  beautiful  analysis  ever  penned,  I  think. 
And  after  I  came  home,  the  chapter  on  Pride,  Vanity,  Self-love, 
etc.  A  clear  sunlight  shines  along  the  page — a  truly  heavenly 
Hght.  I  can  now  understand  its  magic  power  over  you,  when 
beginning  to  define  your  conceptions  of  truth,  and  duty,  and  how 
it  has  remained  to  you  a  household  deity,  a  sort  of  Mercurius 
Terminus  in  your  garden  ever  since.  ... 

Blairsville,  Aug.  16,  1854.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  happened  into  a  Swedenborgian  Chapel  last  Monday, 
and  justified  your  strictures  on  the  dry  and  unfeeling  religionism 
of  that  singular  people.  But  I  have  observed  that  while  the  very 
idea  of  the  Devil  quickens  the  intellect,  every  phase  of  UniversaHsm 
seems  to  opiate  it.  Damnation  is  certainly  the  brandy  and  water  of 
Christendom.  I  call  Swedenborgianism  a  phase  of  UniversaHsm, 
because  their  hells  are  too  good-natured  to  scare  a  hare;  and  all 
common  folks  ask  is  to  be  let  alone  after  death.  Mrs.  Stowe's 
fame  I  am  bold  to  say  will  be  greatly  sustained  by  her  travels. 
They  are  of  masculine  strength  of  reflection.  She  lays  hold  d  la 
Beecher,  and  startles  the  traveller  with  new  views  of  ground  he 
thinks  he  has  made  his  own. 

But  you  must  read  Ruskin,  it  is  more  admirable  than  most 
books, — better  English — better  taste — sounder  common  sense — ■ 
nicer  analysis.  ...  I  am  once  more  interrupted.  It  is  now  late 
in  the  evening.  We  have  made  our  last  arrangements  and  are 
quite  ready  for  what  to  many  would  be  intolerable  toil,  but  to  us 
is  much  more  of  a  frolic.  I  already  smell  health, — ^like  Virgil's 
horses  on  the  plains  of  Spain,  in  the  distant  air.  .  .  . 

Blairsville,  Aug.  27,  1854.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wipe. 

. .  .  But  must  I  confess  it — your  nicest  letters  are  those  which 
contain  most  about  baby.  Senseless  Papa, — finally  vanquished, 
— enslaved  to  a  chub  face.  It  floats  before  me  Hke  a  wee  white 
cloud  in  a  clear  blue  sky.  Every  little  thing  you  tell  me  about 
her  seems  to  become  history  to  me,  and  is  clearer  than  the  rocks 
I  look  at  to  my  vision.  ,  .  , 


3o8  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

Sept.  lo,  1854.    To  HIS  Wife. 

. . .  You  say  there  is  but  little  religion  now — that  few  live  near 
to  God — that  no  poet  now  sings — 

"  O  happy  servant  he 
In  such  a  posture  found!" 

No,  my  wife, — the  religious  feeling  is  a  perpetual  passion  in 
mankind,  distinguishing  it  from  brute  kind.  As  well  might  you 
lament  the  cessation  of  all  exhalation  in  this  draught.  As  well 
might  you  imagine  the  Aurora,  or  the  northern  Aurora,  or  any 
of  the  magic  streamings  forth  of  the  imponderable  forces  of  the 
world,  to  become  exhausted, — as  that  man  can  cease  to  reverence 
and  desire  God.  I  have  been  reading  the  life  of  Pythagoras,  and 
am  amazed  at  the  minute  and  complete  resemblance  of  that 
ancient  system  of  faith  and  ethics  to  the  Christian,  and  the  resem- 
blance of  their  expressions  to  that  which  characterizes  the  utter- 
ance of  certain  schools  to-day. 

"  O  happy  servant  he 
In  such  a  posture  found!" 

It  will  ring  like  the  sound  of  the  bells  of  Shannon,  forever  through 
all  serious  hearts  to  the  end  of  time.  But  every  age  of  spiritual 
impulse  is  a  new  springtime  for  the  flowers  of  poetry.  We  may 
even  say,  a  new  era  of  thought  in  which,  while  the  types  continue, 
new  genera  and  species  of  utterance  and  sentiment  are  created; 
so  as  to  leave  Universal  History  a  Unit,  and  yet  make  it  infinitely 
diversified. 

It  is  still  true  that  where  the  intellect  is  excessively  exercised, 
and  especially  apart  from  nature, — there  the  religious  passion 
with  all  the  other  passions  takes  a  subordinate  role  in  the  expe- 
rience of  the  life, — both  of  the  individual  and  of  the  society, — 
in  Madame  Cote,  and  in  New  England.  But  the  Passion  is  still 
there,  and  may  be  called  into  activity  at  any  moment  by  sick- 
ness, suffering,  persecution  or  reaction. 

We  have  Thoreau's  "Walden"  here.  What  a  dream  it  is! 
worthy  of  an  Apollo  Agricus.  I  have  great  delight  in  it.  He  says 
exquisitely: 

"  We  may  waive  just  so  much  care  of  ourselves  as  we  honestly 
bestow  elsewhere." 

Isn't  that  glorious?  And  then  he  adds  mystically,  out  of 
some  inspired  depth  of  consciousness — For 

"Nature  is  as  well  adapted  to  our  weakness  as  to  our  strength." 


i854  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  309 

Here  is  something  both  new  and  true, — never  uttered  before, 
I  wager  a  world.  And  so  kind  an  inducement  to  benevolence, 
so  soft  and  gentle  a  protection  afforded  to  the  timid  lovers  of 
men  who  dare  not  do  good  till  they  are  assured  against  ill  to 
themselves, — unable  to  pursue  the  hosts  of  devils  without  a  long 
line  of  paradise  forts  to  fall  back  upon  at  every  step,  not  knowing 
that  the  whole  world  is  the  good  man's  fortress,  and  nature  uni- 
versal his  overruling  providence. 

Thoreau  is  a  poet  all  the  more,  because  without  pretension 
to  any  quaintness  or  ultra  originality  of  style.  He  is  as  su- 
perior to  Alcott,  as  Milton's  English  is  superior  to  Carlyle's. 
Yet  now  and  then  one  is  charmed  with  a  neat  symbol — for  in- 
stance when  he  says, 

"What  a  man  thinks  of  himself,  that  it  is  which  determines, 
or  rather  indicates,  his  fate." 

And  his  "rather  indicates"  is  a  whole  volume  or  two  volumes 
of  metaphysics  in  two  words. 

But  let  me  charm  you  with  a  sentence  from  JambHchus,  which 
speaks  home  to  our  own  two  parent  souls,  brooding  like  birds 
over  our  nest,  gazing  like  two  eyes  of  one  soul  with  love  on  our 
daughter.     He  is  speaking  of  Pythagoras — "That  Man." 

"When  also  he  was  married,  he  so  educated  the  daughter 
that  was  born  to  him  and  who  was  afterward  married  to  Meno 
the  Crotonian,  that  when  she  was  a  Virgin  she  was  a  leader  of 
Choirs,  but  when  she  was  a  wife,  she  held  the  first  place  among 
those  that  approached  the  Altars." 

Is  not  that  a  sweet  prophecy  within  our  souls?  .  .  , 

Greensbueg,  Nov.  3,  1854.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

I  have  read  some  score  of  pages  in  Humboldt's  lives  to-night, 
but  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  my  earnest  desire  to  love  what  you 
like  is  ineffectual  in  this  instance.  The  book  is  written  by  a  very 
small  fellow,  I  think,  a  better  sort  of  Bozzy,  who  not  only  over- 
praises his  hero,  but  has  no  conception  of  what  travelHng  and 
labor  is, — ^whose  hair  stands  on  end  at  the  shadow  of  a  danger, 
and  to  whom  mosquitoes  and  lions  are  monsters  in  the  same 
catalogue,  if  not  of  equal  magnitude.  Humboldt  did  much — ^very 
much — and  for  science.  But  he  did  not  do  half  what  many 
less  praised  names  have  done.  But  he  was  noble  born  and 
wealthy,  and  while  his  means  were  so  ample  that  highways  were 
laid  ready-made  for  his  feet, — his  connections  were  such  that 
honors  came  to  meet  him,  and  found  a  thousand  avenues  for  his 
communications  to  reach  the  ear  of  the  world.    He  was  in  per- 


3IO  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

feet  health  also,  never  had  been  hard  worked  and  always  had 
played. 

Thus  cheerfulness,  the  great  sustainer  and  enthusiastic  guide 
of  man,  made  it  easy  for  him  to  do  what  others  have  more  than 
done  under  sickness  and  in  poverty,  I  was  amazed  to  find  that 
his  celebrated  Orinoco  journey  was  only  380  miles  long.  It  is 
narrated  as  if  it  had  been  3,800. 

Yet  I  am  deeply  interested  in  the  book,  and  shall  read  it 
through.  Meanwhile  I  am  wading  at  leisure  moments  through 
Bopp's  discussion  of  German  and  Sanskrit  Vowels,  a  large  and 
valuable  pamphlet  which  will  do  more  for  my  Sanskrit  than 
anything  I  have  seen  yet,  for  it  always  gives  the  German  pro- 
nunciation of  Sanskrit  words,  and  many  roots  also.  But  I  have 
little  time  for  reading.  The  notes  are  very  copious,  and  must 
be  calculated  up,  indexed  and  mapped  from  day  to  day,  to  keep 
all  straight,  and  show  what  is  next  to  be  done.  .  .  . 

A  letter  from  my  mother  to  her  aunt  Catherine  Robbins, 
of  uncertain  date,  perhaps  spring  of  1854,  has  the  follow- 
ing sentence: — 

You  have  not  suffered  more  about  this  miserable  Nebraska 
business,  and  slave  case  in  Boston,  than  we  here.  Dr.  Furness 
y  has  appeared  in  the  deepest  affliction.  I  never  saw  him  so  be- 
fore. He  has  preached  two  sermons  that  people  call  wails.  I 
heard  one,  and  thought  if  I  ever  did  faint  away,  I  should  have 
done  so  then,  from  intense  emotion.  Peter  has  been  very  sad, 
even  on  his  journeyings,  and  with  all  the  diversions  of  business 
and  travelling.  Oh,  how  easy  it  would  have  been  for  Judge 
Loring  or  Governor  Washburn  to  have  shown  themselves  un- 
compromising! How  ashamed  of  us  our  ancestors  must  be,  if 
they  can  look  down ! 

A  visit  from  William  Thayer  and  Chauncey  Wright  in 
November  (?),  1854,  gave  great  pleasure,  but,  unfortunately, 
my  father  seems  to  have  been  kept  still  away  in  the  field, 
and  missed  seeing  these  friends.  My  mother  writes  on  their 
departure : — 

William  came  on  Wednesday  afternoon,  and  went  yesterday 
an  hour  or  two  before  Chauncey.  He  was  as  bright  as  a  dollar, 
saying   the   funniest   things    in   the   most   absent   and   dreamy 


i854  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  311 

fashion,  as  if  quite  unconscious  of  any  humor.  He  was  on  his 
way  to  Washington  for  the  winter.  He  left  us  "Lyteria,"  a 
Dramatic  Poem  of  extraordinary  beauty  which  Martha  Swan 
and  I  are  charmed  with.  It  is  by  young  Josiah  Quincy  of 
Boston,  who  was  I  think,  a  class  or  two  later  than  William.  .  .  . 

Greensburg,  Nov.  23,  1854.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

. .  .  Let  me  explain,  while  I  think  of  it,  that  I  would  not  indulge 
her  [the  baby]  from  weakness.  But  my  idea  is,  that  while  a 
habit  is  easily  formed  by  indulging  an  unnecessary  desire  or  a 
mere  whim  of  the  child — there  are  certain  natural  impulses 
which  grow  vehement  by  opposition,  and  require  only  a  momen- 
tary indulgence.  For  instance  after  lying  abed  from  seven  to 
two,  that  is  seven  hours,  any  one  as  nervous  as  I  am  finds  his 
nature  insisting  upon  getting  up  and  feeling  the  floor, — I  do  not 
see  why  a  nervous  child  shouldn't  have  the  same  [feeling].  My 
sympathy  with  her  is  so  great  that  I  would  wish  to  give  her  nerves 
this  short  relaxation,  knowing  that  it  is  only  occasionally,  i.e.  when 
she  is  sick,  that  she  needs  it,  and  therefore  not  afraid  of  form- 
ing any  habit  out  of  it. 

I  have  just  been  to  see  Dr.  King's  new  coal  plant  fossil, 
on  a  fragment  of  sandstone  from  Chestnut  Ridge.  Every- 
body is  excited  about  it,  insisting  upon  its  being  an  ancient  in- 
scription. But  he  and  I  agree  that  it  is  a  fossil  plant  of  an  en- 
tirely new  genus.  It  is  marked  very  strangely.  [Here  follows 
a  sketch  of  the  prints.]  These  are  square  holes  of  various  sizes 
and  shapes  ranged  in  an  order,  and  I  suggested  to  him  the  fact, 
which  we  soon  found  correct,  that  the  angle  73°  of  the  rows 
to  one  another  is  precisely  the  angle  of  the  Lepidodendron  stig- 
mata. This  settles  the  question  of  its  vegetable  nature.  Tell 
Henderson  about  it.  .  .  . 

Tyrone,  Dec.  6,  1854.    To  his  Wife. 

I  enclose  you  a  beautiful  relic  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  in  a 
letter  to  his  daughter,  when  a  girl  left  at  school  in  Philadelphia 
in  1789.  Keep  it,  and  our  little  girl  shall  find  it  among  our 
papers,  at  a  time  perhaps  when  it  may  touch  the  right  cord  in 
her  heart  and  be  an  assistance  against  some  temptation  or  a  sup- 
port under  some  trial.  How  we  desire  to  hedge  up  her  path 
against  foes  and  seductions!  And  how  vain  is  that  desire!  No, 
let  us  not  say  so, — ^for  no  instinct  is  vain,  but  each  has  its  appro- 
priate ends.  If  we  do  our  duty,  we  may  leave  the  rest  to  the 
laws  of  our  God,  to  bless  and  save  her  dear  life.     You  remark 


312  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

no  doubt  the  air  of  paternal  authority  and  dignity,  not  only  in 
this  letter  of  Jefferson's,  but  in  the  old  times  generally.  This 
also  has  for  me  a  peculiar  charm,  suggestive  of  grand  views, 
pyramids,  cathedrals,  processions,  thrones,  and  their  array, 
gray  locks  waving  over  noble  shoulders,  worship  and  reverence. 
The  whole  past  is  a  revering  of  Age.  The  history  of  mankind 
is  an  ancestral  worship.  It  is  pecuharly  fit  that  a  father  should 
say  this, — or  that, — shall  make  you, — my  child — more  worthy 
of  my  love.  God  thus  speaks  to  us.  If  Young  America  can 
presage  anything  but  a  manifest  destiny  of  ruin,  it  will  be  be- 
cause the  seeds  of  this  Nature's  5th  Commandment  are  not,  and 
can  never  be  wholly  destroyed  from  her  soil.  As  the  youth  of  our 
country  becomes  manhood,  the  roystering  irreverent  genius  of 
the  people  will  pass  into  a  more  worshipful  frame,  and  much  of 
the  conservatism,  and  more  of  the  domestic  aristocratism,  of 
the  old  world  times,  will  reappear  in  the  New  World's  future. 
We  need  not  therefore  share  in  the  terrors  of  the  old  women, 
or  anticipate  a  radical  change  in  humanity  upon  the  planet.  The 
moral  cosmos  will  forever  reproduce  its  phenomena,  as  the  physi- 
cal cosmos  does  its  own.  .  .  . 


In  a  letter  of  February  20,  1855,  from  my  mother  to 
her  aunt  Catherine  Robbins,  she  says : — 

Peter  has  been  gaining  slowly  the  last  fortnight,  and  is  able 
to  work  again,  some  hours  every  day.  He  is  much  interested 
in  writing  a  little  Manual  on  Coal,  which  he  commenced  in  the 
summer,  and  he  hopes  to  get  it  published  in  May.  I  feel  a  little 
anxious  about  his  writing  so  much  just  now,  for  he  has  very  many 
feeble  days,  and  times  of  great  nervous  prostration.  But  I  like 
the  plan  of  the  little  book,  better  than  anything  I  have  ever  known 
him  to  write.  It  is  clear  and  practical,  and  has  very  pretty  illus- 
trations, which  he  means  to  draw  on  stone  himself,  to  save 
expense. 

My  grandfather  Lesley  was  taken  very  ill  in  February, 
and  early  in  March  died,  after  several  weeks  of  terrible 
suffering.  It  was  for  my  father  a  loss  never  to  be  forgotten, 
but  he  took  it  with  the  serenity  and  hopeful  faith  natural  to 
him  in  times  of  heavy  affliction.  He  wrote  of  his  father's 
death  to  Mrs.  Lyman  on  March  6,  1855,  as  follows: — 


i855  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  313 

The  calamities  we  so  much  dread  in  advance  look  very 
much  like  blessings,  when  they  are  endured  and  recollected. 
The  first  shock  of  my  Father's  death  was  even  severer  than  I 
expected  it  to  be,  but  already  I  begin  to  feel  how  impossible  it 
is  for  Christians,  with  a  faith  in  immortal  glory,  to  regard  the 
departed  in  any  other  light  than  that  of  a  saint  and  divinity. 
I  do  not  wonder  now,  if  I  ever  did,  at  the  ancestral  worship  of 
the  Eastern  people  of  the  earth.  The  noble  man  has  become 
a  nobler  man,  a  crowned  and  exulting  triumpher,  laughing  at  the 
limitations  of  space  and  matter,  and  already  planning  great 
things;  while  he  looks  with  noble  curiosity  and  heavenly  wonder 
at  greater  things,  and  beings  who  are  to  be  henceforth  his  ex- 
amples and  his  company.  The  thought  fires  the  imagination. 
"To  be  glorified,"  is  too  indefinitely  suggestive; — "to  be  with 
Christ,"  is  too  technical  and  Hmited  and  hierarchical; — "to  live 
again,"  contains  too  large  a  savor  of  the  death  preliminary; — • 
"to  be  among  the  saints  and  angels,"  expresses  much  and  well, 
but  not  all,  for  the  harps  and  trumpets  are  not  satisfactory  to 
all; — but  all  these  and  like  phrases  do  give  us  such  grand  pictures, 
and  open  such  enrapturing  vistas  into  better  worlds,  suggest  so 
many  various  spheres  of  power  and  happiness,  such  a  super- 
abundance of  stored  up  love  and  work,  that  we  can  but  wave  our 
hats  after  him,  with  tearful  eyes  and  quivering  lips,  but  with  a 
hearty  God  be  with  Thee,  O  our  dearest  Father,  into  that  royal 
land. 

In  a  later  letter  he  writes  to  his  v^ife: — 

Alas,  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  now  who  takes  the  same 
kind  of  interest  in  us  as  our  dear  Father  did.  His  loss  is  irrep- 
arable. He  has  carried  away  the  Nameless  Thing  with  him; 
that  gives  blue  to  the  sky  and  greenness  to  the  grass.  .  .  . 

From  Huntingdon,  probably  May  15,  1855.     Peter  Lesley 
TO  HIS  Wife  at  Algonac,  Newbtjrg. 

.  .  .  Kiss  Dora  and  Annie  and  Louise  for  me,  and  tell  them  I 
am  in  the  country  of  the  three  bears,  but  have  not  yet  been  to 
their  house  to  see  their  three  beds  and  three  chairs  and  three 
soup  dishes.  Ask  them  if  they  think  the  three  bears  will  make 
much  of  a  growl  if  I  venture  to  taste  their  porridge,  to  see  whether 
it  is  too  cold  or  too  hot  or  just  right. 

Your  letter  is  dated  Saturday  night,  so  we  are  close  together 


314  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

again  and  I  bless  God  for  your  health  and  happiness.  You 
wonder  where  I  was  on  Sunday.  I  was  for  once  at  home  in  a 
Presbyterian  church,  and  touched  deeply  with  a  Presbyterian 
sermon.  Not  that  I  liked  any  more  than  ever  I  do  the  wrath 
and  hell  and  original  pollution  that  was  in  it;  but  the  preacher 
was  a  man  of  genius,  of  piety,  of  sense,  of  sympathy  and  of  the 
people, — a  printer  once  by  trade,  and  a  preacher  by  vocation, 
you  could  prove  it  by  every  tone  of  his  voice  and  every  gesture 
of  his  body.  He  preached  the  Past,  it  is  true,  Cain  and  Gehize 
and  Ananias  and  Sapphira,  but  also  the  eternally  present  Christ, 
and  the  wants  and  powers  of  the  Soul.  If  his  illustrations  were 
antiquated,  his  theme  was  modern,  and  his  spirit  penetrated  to 
the  joints  and  marrow  of  our  souls.  In  the  evening  his  sermon 
was  from  Proverbs.  He  that  covereth  his  sins  shall  not  prosper, 
but  whoso  confesseth  and  forsaketh  them  shall — I  forgot  what — 
but  it  is  some  blessedness,  and  just  what  one — doesn't  matter, 
as  they  are  all  alike  and  resolve  themselves  into  one — knowing 
God 

Algonac,  May  i8,  1855.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

I  have  been  lying  beside  our  little  beloved  (who  is  taking 
her  noon  nap),  reading  Charles  Sumner's  grand  lecture  in  New 
York,  from  the  Tribune.  What  a  triumph  it  is  that  such  words 
are  listened  to  with  enthusiasm  by  such  multitudes  of  people! 
How  I  have  been  longing  to  read  it  aloud  to  you.  .  .  . 

Algonac,  Sunday  Morning,  May  20,  1855.     To  her  Husband. 

...  I  looked  over  the  bookcase  for  a  religious  book.  The  Wares, 
Channings,  etc.,  however  good,  were  all  too  familiar.  I  took 
up  my  old  friend  Madame  Guyon  and  Fenelon,  by  Professor 
Upham,  and  wondered  if  the  old  feeling  would  come  back  in 
reading  it.  Lately  I  have  had  a  longing  for  an  awakening  of  all 
devout  and  affectionate  sentiments.  I  opened  at  Bossuet's 
conversation-  with  Madame  Guyon.  It  is  fine,  and  in  reading 
it  again,  I  recognize  the  source  of  many  of  my  fixed  views,  on 
religious  subjects.  Her  description  of  the  subjection  and  sanc- 
tification  of  the  will  to  God,  the  passively  active  condition  of  a 
soul  in  which  God  lives  and  works,  was  very  clear.  But  my  old 
enthusiasm  in  reading  the  book  was  gone.  It  did  its  work, 
years  ago,  shed  a  lovely  peaceful  light  upon  my  spirit,  but  now 
it  can  do  no  more.  .  .  . 


1855  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  315 

The  outdoor  life,  hard  and  exposing  as  it  was,  seems  to 
have  again  brought  health  to  my  father.  He  writes  all 
through  May  of  greater  zest  of  life,  and  in  a  letter  of  May 
22  remarks:  "Think  of  me  without  care,  for  I  am  entirely 
well.  I  have  the  happiest  visions  of  your  dear  and  amiable 
circle  at  Algonac,  in  these  days  of  bright  soft  May." 

Here  is  a  pleasant  description  of  his  talks  and  walks 
with  one  "Chavannes": — 

June  17,  1855.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

How  the  same  combinations  in  life  perpetually  reappear! 
Chavannes  has  been  telling  me  stories  in  which  all  my  old  friends 
are  mixed  up.  Just  now  he  made  us  laugh  by  this  anecdote 
of  old  Cffisar  Malan.  They  were  in  the  same  car  on  the  Stras- 
burg  Railroad,  when  Malan  was  informed  that  one  of  the  sons  of 
his  old  friend  and  fellow  Pasteur,  Chavannes,  was  in  the  train. 
He  came  and  sat  down  by  him,  and  his  first  word  was — "£/j, 
mon  ami — what  is  the  health  of  your  soul?  Comment  porte-t-il 
votre  dme?"  Chavannes  is  enough  of  an  American  not  to  be 
very  cordial  with  strangers  (he  says),  so  he  replied — after  a  lit- 
tle reflection,  "A/'ew/  there  are  two  things, — one  may  believe 
he  has  a  soul,  or  one  may  doubt  it; — if  he  believes,  he  may  care 
for  his  soul,  or  he  may  not; — if  he  care  for  his  soul,  it  may  be 
either  more  than  for  his  body  or  less; — if  he  care  for  his  body, 
he  will  not  if  he  be  wise  expose  it  to  the  practice  of  any  quack 
in  any  public  place,  but  will  go  to  a  good  and  well-known  physi- 
cian; much  more,  if  he  care  for  his  soul  will  he  do  the  same." — 
Malan  stroked  his  chin;  said  no  more  and  soon  went  away. — 
Some  days  afterwards,  Malan  came  to  see  Chavannes,  the  father, 
who  introduced  him  to  his  children.  When  it  came  to  Gabriel's 
turn, — Gabriel  grew  red, — and  Malan  laughed,  saying, — "Ah, 
no  occasion  to  introduce  us:  we  know  each  other."  Then  the 
story  was  told  and  old  Chavannes  was  heartily  amused.  But, 
says  Gabriel — ^Malan  was  a  good  man,  only  a  little  faible.  .  .  . 
His  uncles  are  in  Tennessee,  the  rest  of  the  family  in  Holland. 
They  were  scattered,  during  the  Revolution,  in  Canton  Vaud, 
in  1846.  How  pleased  you  would  be  with  him!  His  English 
is  a  thousand  times  worse, — more  laughable  than  Desor's  or 
even  Lesquereux's.  He  makes  us  infinite  music;  the  first  day 
was  one  perpetual  joke.  His  blunders  are  sometimes  perfect 
linguistic  gems,  opening  down  vistas  of  etymology  among  old 
forms  of  expression;    as  when  he  talks  about  the  horse's  foot 


31 6  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

becoming  sorry,  instead  of  sore.'  He  cried  out  yesterday  as  he 
was  sawing  away  with  his  knife  at  a  large  sapHng — "Heh!  it 
was  very  better  to  get  one  axis."  This  unutterably  ridiculous 
congeries  of  blunders  haunted  me  for  hours,  and  made  me  sore, — 
sorry, — with  inward  laughter.  He  always  says  empeche,  for 
prevent.  He  is  an  enthusiastic  botanist,  for  the  sake  not  of 
classification,  but  chemistry,  and  is  thorough  in  mathematics.  .  .  . 
During  these  walks  we  have  conversed  on  all  subjects,  and  he 
is  a  continual  pleasure  to  me.  He  was  in  the  war  of  revolution 
of  Canton  Vaud.  He  was  also  in  the  great  fight  in  Paris,  around 
the  Pantheon  wherein  ii,ooo  lives  were  lost,  and  with  his  own 
rifle  brought  down  a  revolutionist  from  the  summit  of  the  dome. 
He  tells  me  items  of  these  histories  that  throw  quite  new  light 
on  the  secret  springs  of  action  in  Europe,  and  although  a  thor- 
ough conservative  has  eyes  open  wide  to  the  marvellous  miseries 
and  wrongs  of  the  workmen  in  France  and  Germany,  and  pre- 
dicts with  confidence  a  red  republican  revolution  sooner  or  later. 
You  will  be  pleased  to  hear  also,  that  he  predicts  with  equal  con- 
fidence the  abolition  of  slavery  sooner  or  later  in  Tennessee.  .  .  . 

June  19,  1855.     To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  My  yesterday's  plotting  has  brought  out  the  whole 
structure  of  Broad  Top  (I  stand  astonished  at  the  precision  and 
effectiveness  of  my  method  of  work, — thanks  to  my  habits  of 
faithful  laborious  investigation,  and  to  my  early  experience  in 
self-directed  science — thanks  to  the  Providence  of  God),  and 
I  cannot  but  see  how  small  a  part  of  Broad  Top  is  available  for 
years  to  come.  This  is  new  light.  It  tells,  you  see,  upon  the 
Allegheny — ^for  the  less  coal  available  is  here,  the  more  valuable 
is  the  available  coal  there.  ... 


Of  this  work  he  again  remarks  in  a  letter  of  June  28, 
1855: 

The  other  discovery  was  the  structure  of  the  country  I  have 
been  so  laboriously  and  doubtingly  studying.  It  all  came,  as  it 
all  always  comes,  in  a  flash,  by  a  kind  of  prepared  inspiration. 
My  work  will  henceforth  be  intellectually  easy. 

My  mother  adds  a  playful  postscript  to  a  long  letter  of 
June  24,  1855 :— 


i855  PROFESSIONAL   LIFE  317 

Since  tea  I  have  been  amusing  Chauncey  Wright  with  our 
prospective  future  in  Broad  Top  lands,  and  all  our  castle -build- 
ing. He  also  is  to  make  a  fortune  in  some  unheard-of  way,  and 
William  Thayer  also.  We  are  then  all  to  retire  from  the  world, 
and  live  together,  you  devoting  yourself  to  Arkism,  Chauncey  to 
Astronomy,  and  William  to  Poetry,  while  Martha  Swan  and  I 
keep  house  in  the  most  aesthetic  manner,  and  Mary  affords  pleas- 
ant pastime  to  the  three  students. — Don't  you  think  our  castle 
in  the  air  is  a  fine  institution  ? 

Beoadtop,  July  24,  1855.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  As  we  approached  Spur's,  we  heard  the  rain  coming  again 
across  the  forest  below,  and  started,  but  too  late;  we  were  drenched. 
This  opened  up  the  fertile  subject  after  tea,  and  Chavannes  de- 
scribed thunder-storms  below  one  in  the  Alps,  and  then  said  that 
the  noise  of  the  hail  in  heaven  before  it  falls  is  supposed  by  some 
one  recently  to  be  the  rattle  of  the  first  crystals  dancing  up  and 
down  between  the  two  strata  of  clouds,  one  negatively  the  other 
positively  electrified.  After  dancing  a  long  time,  they  grow  too 
heavy  for  the  attraction  and  fall  through  the  lower  cloud  to  the 
earth.     It  is  a  beautiful  hypothesis. 

Did  I  tell  you  it  struck  me  the  other  day  that  the  political 
name  Tory  is  a  true  Arkism,  Tori,  and  equal  to  Dorian,  Druid, 
etc.  ?  Observe  it  is  the  mysterious  name  of  the  High  Church 
party.  Yesterday  I  was  enchanted  by  lighting  on  a  sentence  in 
Harrison  Ainsworth's  "St.  James."  He  describes  the  trial  of 
Sacheverell,  in  Queen  Anne's  time,  and  says  that  the  vast  mob 
came  with  an  "Oak  leaf"  in  their  hats,  the  distinguishing  badge 
of  the  High  Church  party.  You  see  how  entirely  this  confirms 
my  conjecture  that  the  Tory  party  is  the  modern  representative 
of  the  exclusive  Arkite  Clerical  Aristocracy,  the  Druids  of  old. 

Cambridge,  July  30,  1855.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  While  little  Mary  sleeps,  I  must  try  to  give  you  the  history 
of  the  last  two  days.  They  have  been  quite  eventful.  Friday  we 
had  agreed  some  days  before  to  spend  at  the  Hillards,  with  the 
Hoppers  and  Stearns; — but  when  we  waked,  the  day  was  alter- 
nately rainy  and  cloudy,  and  we  knew  not  what  to  do.  I  did  not 
feel  inclined  to  persevere  in  going,  but  Cousin  Susan  had  invited 
Mary  Walker,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  a  pleasant  excursion  and 
change  for  her;  so  at  eleven  o'clock,  between  the  drops,  we  set  off 
in  the  omnibus.     Our  going  was  certainly  an  inspiration. — ^When 


3i8  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

we  got  there,  we  found  Mrs.  Stowe  had  arrived  the  day  before,  to 
spend  two  days  at  the  Hillards,  and  had  with  her  a  young  colored 
friend  from  Philadelphia, — a  Mrs.  Webb,  who  has  a  remarkable 
voice  and  great  talents  as  a  reader. — She  gives  readings  and  reci- 
tations of  Shakespeare,  Sheridan  and  others,  and  goes  by  the 
name  of  the  black  Siddons.  Well,  she  and  Mary  cottoned  to- 
gether a  good  deal,  although  M.  has  had  too  much  sorrow  and  is 
of  too  deep  a  nature,  not  to  be  quite  reserved. — This  woman's 
father  was  a  Spaniard,  her  mother  a  very  black  woman  and  a 
slave,  who  belonged  to  the  finest  of  the  African  tribes.  Mrs. 
Stowe  said  she  was  of  a  splendid  race. — This  mother  was  per- 
fectly happy  in  slavery,  until  she  knew  she  was  to  have  a  child. 
Then  she  became  miserable  until  she  escaped: — She  longed  to 
have  her  child  born  free. — Through  many  dangers  she  reached 
New  Bedford,  three  weeks  before  this  daughter  was  bom, — having 
travelled  on  foot  for  months,  suffering  everything  from  conceal- 
ment and  starvation.  She  lived  in  New  Bedford  many  years  in 
great  comfort,  and  much  respected,  gave  her  daughter  an  excel- 
lent education,  sent  her  to  Europe  to  study  languages,  and  finally 
died  during  her  absence,  of  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  occasioned  by  her 
horror  at  hearing  of  the  passage  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Bill.  .  .  . 
After  M.  had  gone,  Mrs.  Stowe  asked  me  about  her,  and  was 
much  interested  in  her.  She  promised  to  write  to  Lord  Elgin  at 
once,  she  knows  him  well. — Also  to  have  advertisements  in  Eng- 
land.— She  also  said  I  must  say  to  you,  if  other  means  failed  of 
getting  the  girl,*  she  has  a  friend  in  New  York,  who  has  succeeded 
in  getting  off  hundreds,  and  who  never  fails. — I  am  almost  afraid 
to  write  about  it,  but  the  great  reason  of  his  success  is  that  he  is 
in  connection  with  a  young  slaveholder  at  the  south,  who  has  a 
perfect  enthusiasm  for  running  oflf  slaves.  He  is  afraid  to  be 
known  as  an  Abolitionist,  has  an  immense  property  in  lands  and 
slaves,  but,  Mrs.  S.  says,  is  of  an  extreme  temperament,  a  sort 
of  John  Hopper,  and  knows  that  his  game  would  be  up  in  the 
South  were  he  to  avow  his  principles. — What  do  you  think  of 
it — I  mean  of  the  slaveholder  and  his  principles  ?  It  is  certainly 
not  avowed  Christianity,  and  yet  what  could  he  do  were  he 
known? 

How  I  wish  you  had  been  at  the  Hillards  at  dinner  on  Friday, 
and  at  breakfast  on  Saturday! — Mrs.  Stowe  was  to  have  gone 
home  Friday,  but  Mrs.  Webb  tripped  and  fell  on  the  stairs  and 
hurt  her  foot  so  badly  that  she  was  obliged  to  have  a  painful 

*  Mary  Walker's  daughter. 


i8ss  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  319 

operation  performed. — What  a  day  that  was!  Hungarians  com- 
ing and  going,  in  earnest  conclave  with  Cousin  Susan,  the  Hoppers, 
and  Stearns,  and  Mr.  Hillard,  all  in  their  most  genial  humor, — 
now  and  then  a  deep  groan  from  the  room  where  Cousin  Susan 
and  Mrs.  Stowe  and  the  Doctor  were  helping  Mrs.  Webb  through 
the  operation.  In  the  evening,  to  our  surprise  (for  Mrs.  Webb 
was  in  great  pain,  and  lying  on  a  sofa),  Mrs.  Stowe  opened  the 
folding  doors,  and  asked  us  to  listen  to  Mrs.  Webb's  reading,  as 
it  would  divert  her  from  her  sufferings. — You  know,  dear,  that  I 
never  heard  Fanny  Kemble,  or  any  other  great  reader;  so  it  was 
all  new  to  me  and  I  enjoyed  her  much,  particularly  her  reading 
passages  from  ''Uncle  Tom"  in  which  Topsy  figures. — It  was 
pleasant  to  watch  Mary  Walker's  face  while  all  this  was  going  on. 
It  was  a  day  of  days  to  her.  .  .  . 

Aunt  Kitty  will  soon  send  you  an  account  of  Henry  Ward 
Beecher's  Phi  Beta,  and  I  will  send  a  Post,  with  Wm.  Thayer's 
account  of  his  shipwreck.  ... 


The  greatej-  part  of  this  August,  1855,  they  spent  to- 
gether in  Cambridge,  and  probably  attended  a  meeting  of 
the  American  Association,  which  met  in  Providence,  R.I., 
on  the  15th  of  that  month. 

In  his  field  work  of  this  season  he  had  evidently  felt  very 
much  the  absence  of  his  brother  Joseph  in  Europe,  who 
had  become  an  expert  aid  to  him,  as  well  as  a  most  con- 
genial companion.  In  a  letter  from  my  mother  of  September 
4  I  find  words  which  mention  another  relative  and  friend, 
who  was  to  become  a  lifelong  aid  and  companion  in  his 
scientific  work.  She  writes,  "About  Ben  Lyman,  Chauncey 
thinks  he  would  be  faithful  and  valuable  and  soon  learn  all 
you  wished."  Young  Lyman,  who  had  just  been  gradu- 
ated at  Harvard,  soon  after  this  joined  my  father,  and  in 
the  years  which  followed  more  than  fulfilled  the  expectations 
of  their  mutual  friend,  Chauncey  Wright, 

Several  letters  of  September  of  this  year  speak  of  Pro- 
fessor James  Hall,  of  Albany,  and  of  his  desire  that  my 
father  should  come  to  Albany  to  five,  and  join  him  in  his 
scientific  work  there.  Evidently,  my  father  was  tempted 
to  do  so,  but  in  the  end  decided  to  remain  in  Philadelphia. 
A  warm  and  hearty  friendship  existed  from  this  time  on 


320  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

between  my  father  and  Professor  Hall,  to  which  was  joined 
a  sincere  admiration  of  each  other's  work. 

In  the  autumn  of  1855  the  small  household  moved  into 
a  new  house,  much  more  comfortable,  overlooking  the  pretty- 
garden  of  their  friends  the  James  Furnesses,  which  was 
an  unusual  advantage  in  a  city  house.  In  writing  of  this 
Httle  house  to  Miss  Robbins,  my  father  says,  "It  will  be  a 
very  pretty  one,  and  very  quiet,  and  a  very  spacious  one — 
for  us."  As  I  remember  it,  no  stretch  of  the  imagination 
could  make  it  spacious,  but  it  served  all  the  uses  of  a  palace, 
and  must  have  had  India-rubber  walls  to  hold  all  the  guests 
who  were  at  different  times  sheltered  under  its  hospitable 
roof.  I  well  remember  the  long  narrow  parlor,  rather 
bare  as  to  furniture,  but  cheerful  with  a  piano,  books,  and 
some  good  engravings  on  the  walls,  and  my  mother's  sofa 
near  a  front  window.  My  father  had  a  little  library  over 
the  kitchen,  which  was  more  than  furnished  with  his  book- 
cases and  big  drawing  table;  but  he  did  not  always  have 
the  use  of  this  room.  I  well  remember  one  entire  season 
when  it  was  given  up  to  a  scientific  friend  who  was  very 
ill,  and  whom  he  brought  home  to  nurse,  and  for  whom  there 
was  no  other  place  in  the  house.  Our  good  friend,  Miss 
Martha  Swan,  was  hving  with  us  at  this  time,  and  was  a 
great  blessing  to  both  my  parents,  in  her  devotion  to  their 
children,  as  well  as  a  constant  aid  to  them  in  many  other 
ways.  To  eke  out  the  small  means  of  the  family,  .my  mother 
was  very  glad  to  take  such  boarders  as  could  be  accommo- 
dated in  the  Httle  house.  One  winter  we  had  in  this  way 
Miss  Anne  Whitney,  later  the  famous  sculptor;  another 
year,  a  young  Mr.  Perry,  also  an  artist ;  and  my  uncle  Joseph 
Lesley  and  cousin  Benjamin  Lyman,  who  were  both  stu- 
dents and  assistants  to  my  father,  made  their  home  with 
us  during  different  seasons.  Besides  these  more  perma- 
nent members  of  the  household,  there  was  a  constant  suc- 
cession of  visitors  for  a  few  days  or  weeks  at  a  time,  and 
this  seeing  of  old  and  dear  friends  was  a  great  happiness. 
The  housekeeping  was  of  the  simplest, — good  and  plentiful 
food,  but  plain  of  its  kind, — and  the  hospitable  entertain- 
ment offered  was  a  share  in  their  life,  full  of  intellectual 


i85S  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  321 

interests  and  strong  affections.  As  I  remember  those  early 
days,  it  is  chiefly  a  procession  of  fine  and  notable  faces 
which  passes  before  my  mind's  eye,  certain  tones  of  voices, 
and  a  general  sense  of  richness  of  life,  not  overstrained, 
but  vivid  and  interesting.  Nobody  was  ever  bored  in  that 
little  house,  and,  if  at  times  there  was  weariness  or  illness 
from  overwork,  this  did  not  suffice  to  cause  dulness  or 
depression.  The  house  was  full  of  cheer,  and  of  not  in- 
frequent merriment. 

Broadtop,  Oct.  28,  1855.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  went  out  up  the  road  in  the  growing  dark,  through  the 
mire  and  over  the  rocks  a  mile  into  the  forest,  to  meet  them  [the 
boys]  and  help  them  carry  the  instruments  in.  I  have  a  horror  of 
the  dark,  and  especially  of  the  forest  at  night.  Superstitious  images 
crowd  around  me,  and  voices  follow  and  whisper  after  me.  Every 
whitened  stump  becomes  alive,  and  the  chinks  of  sky  through  the 
matted  tree  tops  seem  spirits.  I  have  often  walked  alone  in  the 
woods  after  dark,  in  order  to  conquer  these  fears,  and  I  tried 
to-night  how  far  my  self-education  had  succeeded.  I  went  on  sur- 
rounded by  my  reflections  and  an  atmosphere  of  the  infinite. 
The  solitude  was  profound, — increased  by  one  star  shining  down 
into  the  deep  cleft  made  by  the  road.  I  stood  upon  a  few  tree 
stems  thrown  across  a  swamp  place  in  the  tracks,  and  uncovered 
my  head  and  pra3'ed  for  guidance  and  courage  for  all  time.  If 
God  made  me, — let  Him  guide  me!  Time  enough  hereafter  to 
know  Him, — only  let  Him  lead  me  in  the  ways  of  life  everlasting. 
David  was  a  man  of  soul  and  his  prayers  are  of  the  texture  of 
all  our  breaths.  .  .  . 

Stonerstown,  Nov.  9,  1855.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbdsts. 

.  .  .  Whatever  be  the  reason,  I  confess  frankly  I  anticipate  no 
great  happiness  this  winter  in  our  new  house.  So  all  that  comes 
(and  no  doubt  much  will  come) — ^your  visit  included — will  be 
clear  gain.  As  for  "  music  and  dancing," — to  hear  Rachel  once 
will  suffice.  You  think  her  fine?  It  raises  my  opinion  of  her. 
But  why  portray  on  the  stage  artificial  pangs  and  dying  scenes, 
knd  deadly  crimes  of  which  the  world  is  full  and  weary?  I  do 
not  like  tragedy,  and  shall  not  like  Rachel,  though  she  may  be 
a  very  fine  actress.  My  antipathy  to  suffering, — gratuitous, 
unnecessary  suffering  I  mean, — is  unabated,  and  increases  yearly. 


32  2  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

The  sufferings  which  mistakes  and  self-mistakes  make,  which 
deliberate  malice  and  unintentional  awkwardness  make,  and 
which  the  customs  of  society  awry  at  every  joint  make, — they  are 
intolerable,  and  yet  of  these  comes  the  very  stuff  of  tragedy.  I 
wish  every  one  to  be  good  and  happy — how  can  I  take  delight  in  the 
broils  of  lovers  and  the  murder  of  innocents?  I  cannot:  nor  do 
I  think  it  a  great  mark  of  genius  to  imitate  death  scenes,  and 
accesses  of  passion.  It  requires  only  artistic  skill,  time  and 
patience,  and  the  will  to  do  it.  Now  a  great  comedian  is  to  me 
a  great  man.  Shakespeare  is  to  me,  not  the  great  tragedian, 
but  the  great  comedian.  His  fine  humor,  exhaustless  wit,  his 
bonhomie,  which  pervades  all  life,  like  sun  rays,  and  obliges 
us  to  look  with  lenient  eyes  on  weakness,  and  loving  eyes  on 
mediocrity,  in  men  and  women,  his  fancy  for  happy  denoue- 
ments and  sweet  sayings,  in  the  very  heat  and  toil  of  the  plot — 
make  him,  I  think,  the  greatest  of  all — because  the  most  natural 
and  noble  of  all  comedians, — Comus  personified.  No,  I  do  not 
like  tragedy;  we  have  enough  of  its  shadow  always  on  the  earth, 
and  so  much  of  it  in  memory.  It  is  a  fatal  defect  in  genius  that 
after  picturing  a  creation  and  golden  age  of  paradise,  it  will 
always  wind  up  things  with  a  deluge,  and  a  final  conflagration, 
and  utter  destruction  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord.  .  .  . 

This  letter  expresses  a  very  constant  aversion.  My 
father  never  chose  to  see  a  tragedy  enacted,  seldom  read  a 
tragical  story,  and  even  disliked  to  begin  a  tale  or  novel 
M^hich  he  knew  was  to  end  badly. 

Philadelphia,  Dec.  9,  1855.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Mrs.  Lydia  Maria  Child. 

I  have  not  fulfilled  my  promise  to  you  until  now,  because  I 
wished  to  read  your  admirable  book,*  and  not  skim  through  it 
or  "look  it  over,"  as  the  phrase  goes.  And  reading  a  book  is  no 
joke  at  the  present  day, — nor  do  I  indeed  think  it  ever  was, — 
except  for  a  few  natural  jokers  perhaps,  with  Websterian  Horace 
Hu-man  heads.  I  heard  Horace  [Mann]  lecture  last  night,  and 
the  way  he  slew  the  bigots,  and  dispensed  the  clergy,  and  re- 
instated science  and  common  sense,  would  have  done  credit  to 
Shamgar  and  Samson  of  old.  But  his  brow  oppresses  me.  It  is 
a  beetling  crag,  snow-clad, — it  must  feel  heavy  sometimes. 

*  The  Progress  of  Religious  Ideas  through  Successive  Ages.  3  vols. 
1855- 


i85S  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  323 

Your  book  meets  my  unqualified — approval,  I  should  say 
if  I  were  the  teacher  instead  of  being  the  scholar;  I  therefore 
say,  admiration.  It  has  pleased  me  all  the  way  through.  I 
have  read  about  three-fourths  of  it,  and  am  still  reading,  with  the 
same  pleasure  as  at  first.  I  never  read  a  book — any  book,  least 
of  all  one  like  this — consecutively,  but  begin  at  the  end,  then 
read  the  preface — then  plunge  into  the  middle  of  affairs,  ex- 
amine then  how  it  opens,  and  after  that  dash  here  and  there  along 
the  lines  like  a  literary  aide-de-camp,  keep  my  thoughts  of  all  in 
line.  This  argues  a  bad  taste  perhaps  in  your  opinion,  but  in 
my  experience  it  argues  only  a  bad  memory.  It  is  the  only  way 
by  which  I  see  at  once  from  end  to  end  of  my  piano  board — ^by 
moving  my  head  along  the  keys.  So  we  read  score  also — and 
so  the  rocks  and  other  symphonia. 

I  wish  I  could  tell  you  what  pleases  me  so  much  in  it.  Shall 
I  confess  that  I  did  not  expect  to  be  quite  satisfied — and  Susan 
had  a  sort  of  terror  about  it — a  presentiment  of  thunder  and 
lightning,  and  perhaps  the  odor  of  sulphur?  But  there  is  not 
so  much  as  would  come  from  a  first  quality  bougie.  You  have 
admirably  steered  between  Scylla  and  Charybdis.  I  have  yet  to 
see  an  irreverence,  and  no  one  of  course  would  look  for  a  cant 
phrase.  You  carry  the  heart  with  you  sweetly,  all  the  way  through 
— your  sketches  are  masterly — your  delineations  of  character, 
pure,  just  and  very  exciting.  I  never  have  read  anything  in 
biography  finer  than  your  Julian  and  Augustine,  and  who  would 
have  expected  you  to  succeed  in  both  these  ?  Your  last  chapter 
is  a  perfect  poem  of  wisdom  and  love  done  into  elegant  Enghsh. 
Pardon  me  for  what  you  may  think  indelicate  praise,  for  I  know 
that  we  suspect  what  is  unalloyed;  but  I  am  not  writing  for  the 
newspapers,  or  the  Westminster,  or  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  to 
gratify  the  learned  with  annotations,  or  the  common  world  with 
frequent  criticisms,  but  to  your  own  heart  my  own  feelings  which 
I  know  are  yours  about  your  own  work.  You  must  love  it,  and 
feel  sure  and  half-proud,  and  altogether  contented  of  it.  Is  it 
not  strange  that  any  one  else  can?  But  I  do  also.  The  old 
Hebrew  proverb — about  "A  stranger  not  intermeddling  with  it," 
doesn't  apply  to  such  things.  I  felt  about  this  book  as  some  old 
maids  do  about  their  neighbor's  children, — quite  as  tender  an 
affection  for  them,  and  a  great  satisfaction  in  not  having  had  the 
trouble  of  bearing  and  breeding  them  to  their  present  state  of 
beauty  and  sense.  I  couldn't  have  written  your  book,  but  I  feel 
as  if  I — in  some  way  or  other,  unconsciously — had. 

How  was  it  possible  for  you  to  write  so  calmly,  and  neither 


324  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

fall  into  vituperation  nor  sarcasm?  I  cannot  comprehend  it. 
Have  you  gone  back  over  your  finished  MS.  and  eliminated 
everything  except  the  fine  wit,  and  sweet  expostulation  with 
folly  and  arrogance?  The  tone  throughout  is  beautiful — per- 
fectly beautiful.  There  were  four  or  five  shockingly  funny,  and 
shockingly  energetic  things  in  Horace  Mann's  lecture  last  night, 
of  an  hour  and  a  half  long.  There  is  not  one  that  I  have  seen  in 
all  your  three  volumes;  but  a  thousand  places  where  the  smile 
curls  round  the  heart  like  a  kiss-glow,  and  where  the  light  comes 
into  one's  eyes,  as  when  one  reaches  the  top  of  a  hill.  What 
a  divine  gift  this  is,  of  a  pure,  noble,  glowing  style !  pure  to  save 
the  feelings,  glowing  to  excite  them,  and  noble  to  reward  them. 
Your  English  is  absolutely  music,  and  fully  equals  Irving's  or 
Hillard's,  and  pardon  me  for  a  little  of  man's  arrogance,  when 
I  say  that  there  isn't  a  trace  of  woman's  weakness  about  it.  I 
defy  a  jury  of  twelve  critics  to  determine  whether  a  man  or  woman 
wrote  it.  I  think  this  great  praise,  for  my  highest  ideal  of  hu- 
manity is  the  married  man, — the  man-woman, — the  caulacau  of 
the  Gnoois;  nor  can  any  angel  be  painted  of  either  sex  without 
falling. 

There  is  one  thing  I  cannot  well  comprehend,  I  mean  your 
positive  philosophy.  You  evidently  do  not  mean  to  obtrude 
one.  But  you  leave  your  readers  in  a  sort  of  perplexity  about 
your  own  opinions  on  all  but  minor  matters,  and  negations.  It 
is  evident  that  you  have  no  sympathy  with  bigots,  nor  with  pro- 
fane atheists.  You  are  neither  an  Athanasian,  nor  a  Brahmin 
nor  a  Talmudist;  but  the  only  decided  sympathies — not  expressed, 
but  intimated  in  your  book,  are  first,  with  the  oppressed  in  fact 
— and  secondly,  with  the  growing  soul  of  humanity — that  is, 
with  every  possible  natural  posture  of  the  heart-head  in  all 
races,  climes  and  ages.  I  see  shining  through  the  book  a  very 
soft  and  steady  radiance,  and  it  comes  from  your  faith  in  all 
things  being  well  made  and  lovable,  always  everywhere.  Every 
effort  of  the  thinking  mind,  or  acting  hand,  or  aspiring  heart, 
you  watch  with  the  same  interest  you  do  a  child's.  The  same  in 
Egypt,  India,  China  or  America.  And  you  seem  to  lose  your 
hatred  of  bigotry  under  this  light,  because  it  is  a  natural  phase  of 
heart  and  mind,  proper  to  certain  places  and  times.  I  can  on 
no  other  theory  understand  your  uniform  good  temper  in  de- 
scribing its  exhibitions.  But  you  seem  in  detail  both  to  believe 
in  and  ridicule  or  suspect  the  supernatural.  You  describe  mira- 
cles, etc.,  in  such  a  charming  way,  that  we  are  left  in  a  most 
delicious  perplexity  as  to  whether  you  advise  us  to  cultivate 


i85S  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  325 

Le  Roy  Sunderland  or  join  the  Know-nothings.  Permit  me  to 
ask  entre  notes — unter  vier  Augen — whether  you  really  think 
Apollonius  was  born  twice. — Did  two  she-bears  eat  up  forty-two 
children  at  the  command  of  the  un-"  magnanimous "  Elisha? 
(Susan  specially  desires  an  answer  to  the  last  as  our  marriage 
was  never  considered  complete  until  her  proclamation  of  con- 
viction on  that  point.)  It's  pretty  plain  you  have  a  leaning  to  the 
Unitarians,  and  don't  believe  in  original  sin.  But  it  is  not  so 
evident  whether  or  not  you  consider  Moses  a  reality,  or  Christ 
and  Chrisna  identical.  In  one  word  it  is  a  book  of  historical 
and  not  dogmatical  statements,  and  the  author  steps  further  into 
the  background  than  usual, — in  fact  most  of  the  time  quite  out 
of  sight. 

Sunday  p.m.     December  9,  1855. 
Continuation  of  the  Same  Letter. 

The  most  extraordinary  sermon  I  heard  this  morning,  at  the 
dedication  of  a  Cathohc  Chapel  on  the  Immaculate  Conception  of 
the  Virgin  Mary,  to  which  (not  to  whom)  the  Chapel  is  dedicated. 
It  was  an  incredible  mass  of  stuff,  incredible  to  any  audience  but 
such  a  congregation  of  low  foreheads  and  weak  chins.  Father 
Ryder  said, — "how  could  we  imagine  the  son  of  God  able  to  en- 
dure the  taunt  of  the  Devil,  'Your  own  mother  was  once  my 
servant'?"  Therefore!  Mary  never  could  have  been  in  sin. 
The  promise  of  a  savior  was  made  after  the  fall;  therefore  the 
Saviour's  mother  must  be  taken  out  of  the  rule  of  the  race,  become 
an  exception,  be  set  apart  from  all  the  preceding  world,  and  be 
in  fact  an  Eve  mother  of  the  new  race  of  Christ,  the  redeemer  of 
the  old.  The  woman  was  to  crush  the  serpent's  head  (a  false 
quotation,  but  c^est  egal),  therefore  Mary  must  have  been  made 
a  second  Eve  to  do  it,  etc. 

It  was  very  interesting  to  me,  for  I  saw  in  it  the  modern 
representation  of  the  universal  and  sempiternal  worship  of  the 
Bagi,  Celestial  Virgin,  Bark  of  Safety,  mother  of  all  avatars,  and 
refuge  and  solace  of  man's  and  woman's  imaginative  heart.  The 
mass  performed  was  Mercadante's, — one  of  those  glorious  visions 
of  the  heaven  that  await  us  in  the  Eternal  Music.  I  cannot  de- 
scribe [to]  you  their  effect  upon  me.  Like  tempests  in  the  lassi- 
tude of  summer  they  wake  up  the  dying  life,  clear  away  fogs  and 
vapors,  purge  heaven,  and  restore  an  ineffable  calm  and  bhss, 
worthy  of  the  disembodied  state. 

How  could  I  thank  you  for  your  lovely  worship  of  music, 
throughout  your  book!     I  sympathize  with  every  word.     But  I 


326  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

doubt  somewhat  one  expression, — although  it  is  so  fascinating 
a  conception  that  it  ought  to  be  true, — viz.,  that  music  itself  can 
neither  sin  nor  receive  the  taint  of  sin,  by  which,  you  remember, 
you  would  illustrate  the  innate  essential  purity  of  truth  and  true 
religion ;  the  discord  of  sects  and  the  wrath  of  bigots  do  but  obscure 
it  for  a  time,  but  under  all  malign  aspects  its  harmony  may  be 
discerned  by  the  true  listening  ear.  WiUiam  Henry  Furness  the 
very  day  I  read  this  passage  described  to  me  the  effect  upon  him 
of  some  of  "Don  Giovanni"  of  Mozart,  in  which  he  says  he  felt 
the  wickedness,  without  the  words. 

I  wish  I  had  noted  a  score  or  two  of  things  I  meant  to  write  to 
you  about;  but  in  fact  I  have  been  so  exceedingly  busy  that  I 
have  only  been  able  to  read  by  stealth,  at  intervals,  in  pubHc 
places,  and  surrounded  by  chatterboxes,  when  pen  and  pencil 
would  have  been  an  absurdity.  I  remember  one  thing  however, 
which  excited  merriment  as  I  read  it  aloud — for  I  have  read  half 
a  volume  aloud — and  it  is  this.  You  quote  Mosheim,  and  some- 
body else,  to  explain  the  explosions  from  the  foundations  of 
JuHan's  new  temple  on  Mt.  Moriah,  by  fire-damp.  But  Mosheim 
and  Guizot  ought  to  have  known  that  fire-damp  never  collects 
except  in  coal  mines,  and  that  the  gases  which  are  found  in  wells, 
and  caves,  and  subterranean  excavations,  are  choke-damps,  oxy- 
carbonic,  and  utterly  non-combustible,  even  extinguishing  flame. 
You  gave  the  story,  as  well  as  the  explanation,  for  what  it  is  worth. 
Now  /  beheve  the  story,  but  would  much  rather  see  in  it  a  Guy 
Fawkes'  prank  of  the  Christian  priests,  more  successfully  played 
than  the  one  in  the  House  of  Commons.  Is  not  history  to  your 
eyes  a  Mother  Hubbard's  Cupboard,  where  her  dog-man,  every 
time  she  goes  out,  appears  in  some  new  transformation?  Is  it 
not  a  phantasmagoria  in  which  nothing  astonishes, — and  as  the 
juggler  ends  off  by  bringing  out  a  cannon-ball  and  promises  to 
swallow  it,  you  feel  persuaded  that  he  can  and  probably  will, 
after  all  the  other  equally  incredible  feats  that  he  has  performed ! 
Is  anything  incredible  in  that  awful  hall — that  museum  of  the  past, 
— at  the  far  end  of  which  where  the  vista  closes  in  with  dim  groups, 
and  veils,  and  dancing  lights,  we  descry  angels,  God,  chaos,  and 
creation:   I  am  profoundly  superstitious. 

And  is  not  music  a  superstition  of  the  heart?  "What  pangs 
it  gives  us,  what  starts  and  frights,  what  weird  forms,  fire  from 
heaven,  earthquakes,  portents,  miracles  of  beneficence,  proceed 
along  the  score!  It  is  a  mythology,  instinct  with  Apollo,  Venus, 
Mars — an  Olympus  of  its  own. — I  do  not  wonder  that  the 
oracles  were  moved  by  music,     I  could  myself  prophesy  in  the 


1856  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  327 

midst  of  the  crash  of  an  orchestra, — or  after  one  of  those  divine 
upward  scales,  those  Jacob  ladders  of  harmonies,  every  step  of 
which  is  a  higher  universal  plane  full  of  its  own  angelic  hosts,  like 
the  paradises  of  Mahomet;  and  the  summit  is  lost  in  the  heights 
of  possibility,  that  ecstatic  infinity  of  the  third  octave,  where  the 
sharp  hght  of  the  ultimate  tones  blinds  the  ear,  and  shuts  in 
glories  for  which  we  can  but  pant,  and  wait,  hstening  tiptoe,  at  the 
fates  of  heaven. 

One  more  pardon — I  did  not  mean  so  long  a  letter,  but  I 
could  write  still  more.     But  I  have  been  repeatedly  interrupted, 
and  like  the  spider  who  has  spun  a  web  in  a  too  pubhc  place,  I 
give  up  in  despair  and  only  beg  you  to  beheve  me, 
Ever  affectionately  and  truly 

Your  friend  Peter. 

Postscript  by  Susan  I.  Lesley. 

Dearest  Maria, — Let  Susie  send  her  dear  love  to  thee, 
though  it  is  late,  and  the  space  is  small.  Poor  Peter  is  worked 
down  to  a  very  thin  specimen  of  humanity,  and  rarely  has  a 
moment  to  write.  But  I  have  never  seen  him  enjoy  a  book  more 
heartily  than  yours. — He  has  read  much  of  it  aloud  to  me,  and 
we  have  enjoyed  it  together.- — I  was  scared  before  it  appeared, 
on  account  of  other  people,  not  myself,  but  I  find  nothing  in  it 
to  scare  any  one. 

We  are  very  happy  in  our  new  home,  and  our  little  Mary, 
and  your  name  is  a  household  word  to  us.  My  best  love  to 
David,  and  think  now  and  then  of  your  loving  Susie. 

Philadelphia,  'Jan.  23,  1856.     Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

I  received  your  kind  letter  this  morning  and  its  contents 
made  us  most  happy,  to  think  that  we  may  soon  see  you  face  to 
face.  Peter  has  been  very  unwell  the  last  two  weeks,  with  real 
chills  and  fever.  ...  I  hope  it  is  gradually  wearing  out,  but  it  has 
tried  his  constitution  very  unfavorably.  On  Monday  morning 
early,  we  were  astonished  at  the  sight  of  four  gentlemen  at  nine 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  They  were  Professor  Hall  of  Albany, 
Prof.  Haldeman,  Dr.  Le  Conte,  and  Dr.  Henderson.  They  were 
all  day  in  Peter's  study,  having  great  scientific  sympathy  and  very 
animated  conversation.  At  about  twelve,  Peter  came  down  and 
said  they  were  all  going  to  stay  to  dinner.  I  had  been  sick  with 
a  stiff  neck  and  sore  throat  for  three  or  four  days,  but  I  jumped 


328  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

up  to  calculate  my  resources.  My  woman  was  in  the  midst  of  her 
washing,  and  we  had  calculated  on  a  very  mean  dinner  of  cold 
scraps. — ^But  Martha  ran  out  and  hired  a  cook,  and  brought  an 
elegant  pair  of  fowls;  and  to  a  confectioner's  and  got  pies.  And 
at  two  o'clock  precisely  came  off  one  of  the  nicest  of  dinners, — 
with  Mary,  all  dressed  and  waiting  on  table, — four  kinds  of  vege- 
tables, a  bottle  of  sparkhng  Catawba  and  everything  to  match. 
Peter  had  not  calculated  on  anything  so  fine,  and  was  all  struck 
of  a  heap  at  the  sight.  It  was  also  a  feast  of  reason  and  flow  of 
soul.  Professor  Hall  had  just  returned  from  Iowa,  and  was  full 
of  talk,  and  Dr.  Le  Conte  is  very  witty  and  wide-awake.  I  really 
wish  that  Mother  and  you  had  been  here,  I  think  you  would 
have  enjoyed  the  company  so  much.  At  five  in  the  afternoon 
our  friends  left.  ,  .  . 

To  change  a  "mean  dinner"  into  a  feast  was  one  of 
the  delights  of  my  mother's  life.  Many  a  time  did  she  rise 
from  a  sick-bed,  and  prepare  the  hospitable  board  for  guests, 
sure  that,  however  simple  the  fare,  the  meal  would  be  made 
delightful  by  that  "feast  of  reason  and  flow  of  soul"  that 
added  zest  and  savor  to  every  meal  at  that  table. 

Huntingdon,  May  14,  1856.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

I  feel  now  as  if  the  season  had  actually  commenced.  It  is 
late  to  begin  work,  but  you  will  say  that  my  late  two  trips  to  Beaver 
County  was  work.  It  was  a  long  dusty  ride  to-day,  but  how 
beautiful  the  spring  earth!  It  would  have  rejuvenated  you  to 
have  seen  the  world  of  blossoms  and  young  grasses,  the  ploughing 
and  sowing,  and  to  have  felt  the  winds  from  the  woods  and  hills. 
After  exhausting  poHtics  and  geology,  I  fell  into  a  musing  half- 
sleep,  and  dreamed  verses  in  your  praise.    I  can  only  remember 

Breathe,  balmy  May,  sweet  wishes  to  my  love, 

From  whom  my  feet  as  still  they  rove 
Dance  at  the  very  mention  of  her  name. 

Deeming  it  lovelier  thus  with  love  to  trip, 
Than  to  descend  through  all  the  lists  of  fame 

With  sad  and  stately  steps. 
Breathe,  balmy  May,  sweet  wishes  to  my  love, 

Sitting  at  home  the  faithful  dove. 
While  I  fly  devious  through  the  foreign  air, 

But  only  double  winged  to  return.  .  .  . 


1856  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  329 

The  rest  was  lost  in  sleep.  But  it  was  all  true.  That  is  the 
only  beauty  of  my  poetry, — it  is  all  true.  I  composed  also  divers 
dictations  to  the  government  of  Ohio  upon  the  geological  survey 
bill  of  next  winter, — perhaps  I  will  say  something  about  it  in 
my  book, — I  have  it  pretty  well  arranged.  It  seems  rather  odd 
to  be  meddling  with  what  is  yet  none  of  my  business,  but  we 
must  do  that  sometimes. — I  have  suffered  miserably  the  last  week 
from  wounded  pride  about  my  sermon,  Sunday  night.  Not  that 
I  don't  believe  all  I  said,  but  I  long  now  to  say  everything  true 
in  such  a  way  as  will  cause  it  an  easy  entrance,  and  an  agreeable 
one,  into  people's  hearts.  You  will  smile,  and  say  yes, — you 
know  I  am  greatly  changed  in  this. — I  am,  in  truth!  .  .  . 

[Philadelphia]  May  18,  1856.     Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  HER  Husband. 

...  I  have  been  reading  the  volume  of  "Modern  Painters," 
which  you  left,  with  delight.  I  am  about  half  through  it.  I  know 
so  little  of  art,  that  I  cannot  judge  whether  Ruskin  is  one-sided,  or 
not,  but  I  do  Hke  his  ideas  very  much.  They  seem  more  natural 
and  truthful  than  the  usually  received  ones. — Shall  we  ever  read 
such  books  together?  You  can't  tell  how  truly  I  enjoy  them, 
nor  how  difficult  it  is  for  me  to  lay  down  the  book.  There  are 
a  thousand  things  I  want  to  ask  you  about  in  the  book,  but  it 
would  take  many  sheets  of  paper  and  much  time  to  ask  you.  I 
like  very  much  the  chapter  on  the  Religious  Ideal, — also  the  one 
on  the  Purist  school.  His  illustrations  of  thought  are  so  excel- 
lent and  inspiring,  that  they  appeal  to  every  common  reader, 
who  knows  absolutely  nothing  of  the  subject,  and  give  fresh 
impulse  to  his  observation.  .  .  . 

CoALMONT,  May  25,  1856.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Shell  has  just  arrived  with  the  startling  news  that  Sumner 
has  been  nearly  killed  in  the  Senate  Chamber,  and  Lawrence 
destroyed  by  the  U.S.  Marshal, — two  events  which  we  may  be 
permitted  to  say  should  have  occurred  at  least  together.'^  We  may 
ask  indeed — what  are  we  coming  to?  I  think  certainly  to  dis- 
solution. I  feel  as  if  the  Southern  party,  having  got  all  they 
expect  to  get — intend  now  to  exasperate  the  Northern  party  to 
a  secession,  and  thus  force  them  off  the  Union  ground.  Hoping 
thus  to  reduce  the  Northern  party  to  the  inhabitants  of  one  or 
two  states, — Massachusetts  or  perhaps  New  England,  Northern 

*  Atchison  and  Lawrence.  See  pp.  441— 456,  vol.  i.,  "Abraham  Lin- 
coln, a  History.     By  Nicolay  and  Hay." 


330  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

Ohio,  Michigan,  Wisconsin,  Iowa  and  Minnesota.  But  if  vio- 
lence is  to  bring  about  the  end, — let  us  have  enough  of  it  to  open 
Northern  eyes.  .  .  . 

May  26,  1856.     Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  Charles  Sumner's  time  at 
Washington.  I  was  not  at  church  last  Sunday,  but  hear  that 
Mr.  Furness  preached  about  it,  and  four  people  went  out  of 
church.  Henry  Ward  Beecher  and  many  Boston  ministers 
preached  also  about  it.  Are  there  not  great  crises  coming? 
Think  of  Hillard's  speaking  at  the  indignation  meeting. — I  am 
afraid  that  the  Bostonians  won't  economize  their  wrath,  and  will 
use  it  all  up  in  indignation  meetings.  .  .  . 

COALMONT   P.O.,  BrOADTOP,  HUNTINGDON  Co.,  PA.,  Jum  23,   1856. 

Peter  Lesley  to  Mrs.  Lydia  Maria  Child. 

At  length  I  can  return  your  compliment.  In  a  week  or  two 
you  shall  get  a  Httle  "Manual  of  Coal  and  Topography,"  which 
may  interest  you  because  my  name  will  be  in  front  of  it.  How 
much  other  interest  you  may  find  in  it,  I  can't  tell  until  I  hear 
it  from  yourself.  It  will  no  doubt  be  read  by  a  good  many  young 
men  and  some  old  ones,  and  some  men  of  science  will  find  it 
trashy  because  it  does  not  tell  everything,  and  other  men  of  busi- 
ness will  feel  it  to  be  unsatisfactory  for  the  same  reason.  But 
in  fact  I  have  merely  organized  the  subject  in  this  edition,  and 
reserve  its  development  for  the  next,  for  I  am  self-confident  enough 
to  believe  there  will  be  a  next.  I  hope  to  be  allowed  to  issue  an 
edition  every  winter,  and  in  a  few  years  make  it  somewhat  worthy 
of  its  themes.  There  is  nothing  ignoble  that  is  real. — I  have 
deeply  felt  this  truth  in  writing  upon  Coal,  and  Map  making. 
In  its  frame  and  forces,  a  spider,  or  a  leech,  involves  a  world. 
Every  fact  is  a  dewdrop,  in  which  we  see  reflected  from  all  sides 
all  things, — if  the  eye  will  but  place  itself  at  all  possible  points 
in  turn  around  it.  How  is  it  that  I,  who  deal  so  wholly  with  the 
real,  live  for  it,  and  by  it,  and  have  almost  nothing  of  the  original 
poet — which  every  youth  is — left  in  me, — love  yet  so  dearly 
the  fairy  tale,  the  legend,  the  child's  story  ?  Is  it  not  because  the 
ideal  is  the  realest  real  that  is  ?  Little  sweet  "  Eastward  of  the  sun 
and  westward  of  the  moon"  who  married  the  white  bear,  is  almost 
as  dear  a  reality  to  me  as  my  own  little  Mamie. — Your  flower 
for  children  *  was  snatched  from  me  by  Willie  Furness  before 
I  could  read  more  than  ten  pages. — It  is  as  fresh  as  a  daisy,  and 

*  Flowers  for  Children.     3  vols.     1844-46. 


i§56  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  331 

as  real  and  true.  This  is  the  sort  of  thing  we  children  want  and 
we  will  bless  you  for  every  bunch  of  flowers  you  gather  for  us 
in  your  paradise.  I  long  for  the  time  when  my  darhng  daughter 
shall  sit  at  my  knee,  and  read  it  to  me.  Ah,  that  is  too  great  a 
happiness  to  hope  for. — I  dare  not  trust  myself  with  such  a  hope. 

I  must  see  you  again  this  summer.  Where  shall  it  be?  Do 
you  know  that  fate  favors  rogues,  and  has  decreed  me  some  work 
— bona  fide  work — among  the  Berkshire  Hills.  After  assisting 
at  the  inauguration  of  the  Dudleyan  Observatory  at  Albany, 
in  August,  I  mean  to  spend  three  months  in  Maine  and  in  Western 
Massachusetts,  and  Connecticut.  There  are  certain  problems 
to  settle  there,  which  are  to  be  incorporated  into  the  Canada 
Survey,  and  govern  us  in  our  United  States  geological  maps.  .  .  . 

I  have  lately  been  waked,  or  worked  up, — whichever  you 
please — by  our  grand,  enthusiastic,  harmonious,  and,  I  trust, 
eventually  triumphant.  Republican  Convention, — a  company 
of  as  fine  heads,  faces,  and  hearts  as  I  ever  saw  together, — evi- 
dently men  who  know  what  they  mean,  speak  straight  out,  and 
are  accustomed  to  success.  I  brought  back  from  New  York 
with  me  the  news  that  the  National  Fillmore  Club  have  gone 
over  unanimously  to  Fremont.  It  is  my  belief  that  the  politics 
of  the  country  are  to  be  remodelled,  at  least  for  a  time,  and  our 
history  to  receive  a  check  in  the  wrong  and  an  impulse  at  last  in 
the  right  direction.  To  reconstruct  the  political  sentiments  of 
a  government  is  an  almost  hopeless  task,  we  may  cherish  a  hope, 
however,  that  something  real  in  the  way  of  progress  may  be 
effected. 

Three  times  have  I  essayed  in  vain  to  finish  this  rambling 
epistle.  It  is  now  a  gem  of  a  Sunday  morning;  birds,  crickets, 
children,  even  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  in  the  stable,  are  vocal  with 
that  quiet  intense  life  of  a  still  fine  day.  The  sky  is  what  all 
skies  ought  to  be;  the  sun  has  just  been  created;  the  small  apples 
attract  attention, — the  trees  are  full  of  them;  you  can  almost 
hear  the  com  and  grasses  grow.  Last  night  I  looked  out  over 
toward  the  Allegheny,  and  there  lay  a  great  bright  Bay  of  Naples 
in  the  sunset,  with  Ischia  and  Procida,  and  purple  shores,  and 
emerald  infinites,  beyond,  inviting,  maddening  the  heart  to 
shoot  Ariel-like  out  beyond  the  homed  moon,  and  lose  itself  in 
brilliant  silences  and  solitudes.  .  .  . 

My  dear  friend,  God  bless  you  with  eternal  youth,  is  the  prayer 
of  a  heart  that  you  have  made  to  remember  its  youth  and  in- 
spired with  a  grateful  love  so  that  it  is  by  a  divine  right, 

Yours  truly,  Peter. 


332  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

Cambridge,  July  13,  1856.     Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  have  been  reading  a  life  of  Fremont,  which  is  deeply  in- 
teresting, by  Charles  Upham.  People  here  are  wide-awake.  Poor 
Charles  Sumner!  Do  you  know,  his  friends  fear  very  much  a 
softening  of  the  brain — William  Thayer  writes  to  James  that  he 
sees  him  often,  and  that  he  is  running  down,  and  it  is  now  the 
seventh  week  since  the  assault.  I  have  been  to  church  this 
evening,  to  hear  your  old  friend  Mr.  Stone,  formerly  of  Salem, 
preach  the  annual  sermon  to  the  Divinity  school,  or  rather  to 
the  class  leaving. — It  had  a  very  noble  Anti-slavery  close.  .  .  . 


July  18,  1856.    To  HER  Husband. 

.  .  .  Nothing  is  talked  of  anywhere  I  go  but  Sumner,  and 
Kansas,  and  Fremont.  .  .  . 

Jackson's  [Alleghany  Top],  July  19,  1856.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  HIS  Wipe. 

.  .  .  Terrible  things  crowd  round  us,  like  demons  in  the  Valley 
of  the  Shadow.  A  hundred  children  burnt  and  crushed  up  on  the 
Chestnut  Hill  Railroad. — Another  steamer  burnt  on  Lake  Erie. — 
The  emigrants  fired  into,  robbed  and  imprisoned,  by  the  Missouri 
pirates,  on  the  river. — ^Another  Northern  member  clubbed  by  a 
Southern  bully: — ^What  are  we  living  into — but  an  age  of  blood 
and  anarchy!  I  do  not  wonder  that  Henderson  felt  so  badly  on 
leaving  Virginia  and  his  children,  for  a  three  years'  cruise. — ■ 
Personal  interests,  however  dear,  are  swallowed  up  in  public  in- 
terests, when  the  race  and  its  last  best  gains  of  the  ages  are  at 
stake.  For  ourselves,  we  are  safe — come  what  may — death  is 
but  a  removal.  But  for  the  country, — the  great  ideas  of  lib- 
erty, equality,  justice,  fraternity,  art,  science,  piety — we  tremble 
and  may  well  be  willing  to  fight.  This  Teutonic  blood  is  one 
that  does  not  readily  endure  forever.  It  always  in  time  rebels. 
The  Southern  degraded  type  of  it  must  not  be  permitted  to  incu- 
bate on  all  that  the  Century  has  gained,  through  so  much  strug- 
gle and  death.  What  a  wretched  development  is  that, — of  the 
vaunted  destiny  of  the  best  stock  of  mankind! 

But  a  few  more  martyrs,  and  the  Union  will  be  saved  by  being 
lost.  I  hope  to  live  to  see  a  northern  army  sweep  with  a  ma- 
jestic irresistible  movement  over  the  South,  and  remodel  at  a 
blow  the  monstrous  frame  of  Society,  that  has  grinned  at  us 
across  the  line,  and  lashed  at  us  from  above  so  long.— What  will 


1856  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  333 

a  few  thousand  lost  lives  be  in  comparison  with  a  saved  age,  an 
emancipated  race,  a  regenerated  tone  of  sentiment  in  America  ? 

Yet  among  the  ways  by  which  the  footsteps  of  the  Avenger 
and  Arranger  come,  are  some  of  peaceful  readjustment, —  and 
we  may  hope  that  by  these  our  salvation  will  appear.  War  is  a 
horror, — but  it  is  much  more  of  a  physical  than  a  moral  horror. 
It  horrifies  cotton  raisers,  and  cotton  workers  more  than  it  can 
philosophers  and  Christians.  These  are  horrified  rather  by  the 
peace  of  immorality  and  venality,  the  death  of  soul  and  decay 
of  noble  sentiment. 

I  have  felt  lately  as  if  I  ought  to  turn  to  and  help  stump  our 
state.  Here  the  Crisis  hinges,  here  in  Pennsylvania.  If  we 
lose  this,  we  lose  probably  all.  But  it  requires  peculiar  quali- 
fications to  make  an  impression  on  the  public.  When  the  money 
comes,  I  mean  to  send  a  few  dollars  to  the  New  York  Club,  to 
help  others  stump  it.  .  .  . 

Cambridge,  July  24,  1856.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  was  a  day  of  great  excitement  in  Boston,  on  ac- 
count of  a  fugitive  slave  case.  The  man  hid  himself  on  board  a 
vessel  coming  from  Mobile,  was  discovered  before  he  reached  this 
port  by  the  Captain,  who  swore  to  deliver  him  up  to  the  authori- 
ties. He  jumped  overboard  and  swam  to  an  island.  Boats 
were  put  off  for  him,  and  he  was  retaken,  but  the  thing  getting 
wind  friends  were  ready  at  once.  The  case  was  carried  at  once 
in  court,  and  Judge  Metcalf  would  not  allow  time  for  any  tele- 
graphing, or  collecting  of  evidence,  but  decided  at  once  that 
the  man  was  free,  in  the  absence  of  evidence  to  the  contrary. 
Thereupon,  William  Francis  Channing  whisked  him  into  a  car- 
riage, and  drove  off,  the  Lord  knows  where,  a  great  multitude 
of  people  cheering  and  hurrahing,  till  he  was  out  of  sight.  Mr. 
Mumford  remarked  to  Susan  Hillard,  "Strange  that  Theodore 
Parker  should  have  been  off  duty,  he  was  all  the  time  at  Cam- 
bridge Commencement." — "Yes!"  she  said,  "and  so  was  Judge 
Shaw. — ^They  always  pair  off  together."  We  have  had  three 
days  of  constant  interruptions  from  visitors,  so  that  I  have  not 
been  able  to  write  you  since  Sunday  evening.  Rosa  Hopper 
was  here  yesterday.  They  are  staying  a  month  at  the  Lorings 
in  Beverly,  in  company  with  the  Danas,  and  are  having  a  de- 
lightful time.  She  told  me  a  httle  secret.  The  papers  state 
that  Charles  Sumner  has  gone  to  a  retired  place,  but  do  not  men- 
tion where.  But  he  is  really  at  Cape  May,  at  the  James  Fur- 
ness's  and  they  do  not  wish  it  known,  because  he  is  so  ill  that  he 


334  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

needs  perfect  rest  and  quiet.  The  accounts  of  him  are  very  sad. 
It  is  said  that  he  has  the  constant  sensation  of  rapping  on  his 
head,  and  that  there  are  many  symptoms  of  softening  of  the  brain. 
When  he  walks,  he  totters  Hke  an  old  man.  Oh,  is  it  not  shame- 
ful that  that  rascally  Brooks  should  go  unpunished,  and   that 

there  are  men  like  Professor ,  wicked  enough  to  uphold  his 

conduct!  .  .  .  Everybody  here  is  intensely  excited.  Even  poor 
unsettled  Mother  sits  and  sews  for  the  sufferers  in  Kansas.  Over 
one  hundred  thousand  dollars  has  been  raised  in  Boston  alone, 
for  the  Kansas  sufferers,  and  Wentworth  Higginson  has  been  out 
there,  and  advises  that  a  road  shall  be  made  through  Iowa.  .  .  . 

Massu^lon,  July  25,  1856.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  The  country  here  about  presents  one  of  those  striking 
ethnological  phenomena,  common  all  over  the  earth,  of  a  city  or 
town  population  quite  different  from  that  of  the  country.  Here 
the  towns  are  full  of  Yankees,  bright,  shrewd,  open-faced, 
straight,  long-nosed,  high-browed,  nervous -looking,  tall,  thin, 
intelligent  New  England  men,  intellectual -looking  and  often 
handsome  women  and  girls  and  large-eyed  boys.  The  country 
is  a  wilderness  of  Pennsylvania  Deutsch — children  and  grand- 
children of  the  Orm  and  other  German  settlers  of  the  east, — true 
to  their  hereditary  instincts,  accumulating  hard  cash  from  the  soil, 
living  filthily,  or  if  cleanly  still  uncomfortably,  in  small  houses, 
and  talking  the  familiar  old  patois.  Good,  honest,  close,  timid 
people,  ready  to  defend  their  rights,  however,  obstinately  con- 
servative, credulous  to  a  wonderful  extent,  yet  shrewd, — a  strange 
compound  of  the  lion  and  the  lamb,  the  fox  and  the  sheep.  A 
race,  which  whenever  set  free  from  the  restraint  of  mountains, 
and  developed  by  cultivation  for  one  or  two  generations,  stands 
deservedly  foremost  of  the  human  series.  .  .  . 

Cleveland,  July  27,  1856.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  my  heart  sank  to  see  a  crowd  of  men,  half 
drunken,  selfish,  mean-eyed  men,  each  with  the  capacities  of  life 
within  him,  but  without  its  opportunities, — crowded  together  in  the 
station  house  at  Alliance,  after  a  political  debauch,  the  raising  of 
a  Buchanan  pole,  and  speeches  for  the  saving  of  the  Union — 
waiting  for  the  various  trains  to  bear  them  home. — Home!  what 
a  misnomer  for  the  place  where  such  soul  locates  its  body — 
north,  east,  south  and  west.  As  our  train  arrived,  we  sat  down 
to  supper,  and  the  first  speakers  and  actors  to  depart  came  hurry- 


i8s6  PROFESSIONAL   LIFE  335 

ing  in.  I  soon  found  myself  in  an  earnest  discussion  with  the 
part  of  the  table  next  me, — the  only  anti-slavery  man  in  the  crowd. 
They  justified  Brooks,  or  rather  insulted  Sumner  in  every  sen- 
tence, and  I  defended  him  with  my  blood  at  boiling  point.  Roars 
of  brutal  laughter  rang  up  and  down  the  supper-room.  Fi- 
nally the  whistle  gave  the  signal  and  they  vanished  like  ghosts  at 
a  cock-crowing.  After  that  for  an  hour  I  had  to  sit  in  the  gen- 
eral room,  surrounded  by  a  loathsome  crew,  for  whom  I  must 
confess  my  heart  wept  with  the  saddest  pity.  Hopeful — yes, 
a  man's  heart  must  be  an  eternal  fountain  of  hope, — to  hope 
for  such  lost  souls.  How  irreclaimable!  How  they  descend 
step  by  step !  I  read  their  fates  in  their  faces  with  a  mute  agony. 
I  thought  of  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  such  lost  souls  in  this 
land.  I  thought  of  the  vain  struggle  of  the  few  against  the  many, 
the  good  and  true  and  noble,  against  the  ignorance,  meanness, 
degradation,  brutal  passion,  stubborness  and  perversity  of  the 
masses.  Here  in  the  state  [Ohio]  I  always  thought  the  model 
of  the  Middle  States,  the  hope  of  the  Northwest,  I  have  seen  the 
old  handwriting  on  the  Pennsylvania  walls — German,  German, 
Ignorance  and  Vice.  The  Reserve  cannot  save  Ohio.  It  may 
conquer  in  one  election  or  another,  but  it  is  like  sweeping  out  a 
rising  inundation  with  a  few  brooms.  Yet  there  is  no  giving 
up — we  must  fight,  as  well  as  work,  while  the  day  lasts,  die  in 
armor  and  trust  in  God.  .  .  . 

There  are  fine  anecdotes  of  Col.  Bissell  of  Indiana,  and  Cum- 
back  of  Indiana,  both  real  northern  Liberty  men.  The  House 
has  struck  a  terrible  blow  at  the  administration,  in  the  matter 
of  the  Army  Bill, — refusing  appropriations  until  the  Kansas 
bogus  laws  are  repealed; — that's  the  proper  place  to  strike.  All 
English  history  says  to  us — stop  the  supplies  and  the  throne  must 
do  what  is  right.  .  . . 

Saxton,  July  31,  1856.    To  his  Wipe. 

...  At  Cleveland  I  inquired  for  Dr.  Newberry,  and  his  fish 
and  plants.  He  has  gone  to  Washington.  ...  I  found  however 
a  young  man,  A.  V.  Lauderdale,  whom  we  picked  up  in  our 
carriage,  and  he  carried  us  to  see  a  small  collection  he  had  made 
himself  with  Newberry,  and  said  that  he  has  found  bones  of  a 
true  Salamander,  which  Newberry  had  sent  to  Dr.  Wyman  of 
Boston.  I  must  see  about  that.  On  leaving  he  gave  me  a  small 
fish  and  two  teeth — quite  an  unexpected,  and  very  pleasant  little 
courtesy,  which  would  be  natural  in  Europe,  but  not  here.  The 
fossils  occur  in  great  numbers  in  the  four-inch    slate,  attached 


336  LIFE   AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

to  the  bottom  of  the  great  seven-foot  bed  at  the  mouth  of  Yellow 
Creek,  near  Willsville,  on  the  Ohio  below  Beaver.  .  .  . 

Broadtop,  Aug.  3,  1856.    To  his  Wipe, 

...  I  hope  you  have  got  the  book  [the  "  Coal  Manual "],  as  it 
will  please  you  in  its  appearance.  But  I  know  you  will  think  it 
very  small.  In  fact  it  has  been  cheaply  gotten  up, — and  not  so 
nicely  therefore.  It  was  published  for  the  benefit  of  the  book- 
seller, not  of  the  author. 

I  am  glad  the  EUises  seemed  like  old  times.  Ben  says  Rufus 
is  very  conservative,  and  is  troubled  at  the  laxity  of  the  times  in 
his  church.  He  told  me  that  four  out  of  the  six  "parts"  at 
the  Divinity  School  this  year  were  too  infidel  to  be  allowed, 
whereat  Rufus  groaned.  I  don't  wonder  that  he  despairs  of 
the  country,  for  it  takes  bright  eyes  to  see  light  ahead  just  now. 
I  have  had  another  terrible  conflict  at  dinner  table  with  the 
Honorable  Mr.  Moore  of  Philadelphia, — Judge  Dougherty  and 
Mr.  Smith,  a  merchant,  one  Buchanan  and  two  Filmore  men,  who 
say  that  we  are  fools  to  vote  for  Fremont,  because  when  in  Con- 
gress he  voted  altogether  with  Atchison  and  Co.  against  Banks 
and  Co.  How  do  the  New  England  men  account  for  that  ?  It  is 
the  one  thing  which  has  all  along  troubled  me.  If  he  plays 
traitor,  the  disappointment  will  be  fearful. 

Camkridge,  Aug.  6,  1856.     Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Well!  New  England's  the  best  place  in  the  world.  The 
Stearnses  drove  over  from  Medford  this  evening  full  of  Kansas 
talk,  Fremont,  etc.  James  Freeman  Clarke  wishes  to  stump 
Pennsylvania,  with  you  for  a  companion.  It  is  said  that  Reeder, 
Robinson  and  Burlingame  will  do  so,  also  a  German  Duher, 
lately  arrived,  who  is  as  eloquent  as  Kossuth,  and  whose  ap- 
pearance is  considered  providential.  Thirty  thousand  copies  of 
Fremont's  life  have  been  sold  in  Boston  alone.  The  Stearnses 
have  presented  me  with  the  finest  lithograph  of  Charles  Sumner, 
beautifully  framed.  .  .  . 

Huntingdon,  Aug.  9,  1856.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wipe. 

.  .  .  Sunday  morning.  Have  had  a  pleasant  breakfast  with 
Bishop  Potter.  Saw  James  Buchanan  last  night.  An  old,  fat, 
Charles  Chauncey  looking  man,  in  an  apoplectic  white  cravat, 
with  one  eye  looking  wide  of  the  other,  a  most  disagreeable  physi- 
ognomy.    He    has    a    "  false "    eye — ^you    cannot    trust    it.     His 


1856  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  337 

manners  are  those  of  a  hoary  politician — extremely  disagreeable. 
I  am  sorry  I  saw  him — if  he  is  to  be  president,  which  God  forbid. 
He  reminds  me  of  the  descriptions  we  have  of  some  of  the  popes. 

Cambridge,  Aug.  10,  1856.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  asked  George  Stearns  yesterday  about  Fremont's  voting 
with  Atchison,  against  Banks.  He  says  it  is  not  so.  Fremont 
was  only  four  weeks  in  Congress,  and  then  wholly  absorbed  in 
California  matters.  As  a  Democrat  he  voted  with  Democrats  on 
all  minor  matters,  but  he  has  never  done  so  where  Slavery  was  the 
subject.  His  whole  course  has  been  an  Anti-slavery  one,  so 
say  all  the  friends  of  freedom. 

Philadelphia,  Aug.  14  ( ?),  1856.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wlfe. 

.  .  .  The  excitement  in  town  and  country  is  becoming  tremen- 
dous. The  Maine  election  intoxicates  the  one  side,  and  makes  des- 
perate the  other.  Pennsylvania  is  now  I  think  safe.  Mr.  Sumner 
thinks  that  the  South  will  take  steps  before  long, — perhaps  before 
the  election,  to  secede.  I  do  not  think  so.  I  have  just  brought 
him  a  roll  of  caricatures.  I  supped  with  Dr.  Wistar  last  evening 
by  appointment  with  Annie,  who  however  supped  with  her  sick 
father.  Sumner  was  not  so  well  yesterday.  His  friends  to  the 
last  must  not  only  be  patient,  but  very  tender  of  him.  He  is  still 
quite  a  sick  man — in  that  sense  that  he  can  bear  no  excitement 
and  has  no  physical  vigor.  His  nervous  system  is  badly  shocked, 
but  his  brain  uninjured.  ... 

In  August,  1856,  my  father  attended  the  meeting  of  the 
American  Association  of  Sciences  in  Albany,  my  mother 
joining  him  there,  after  which  he  returned  by  way  of  Ver- 
mont to  Philadelphia.  In  September  he  accepted  the  office 
of  secretary  of  the  Iron-masters'  Association. 

Sept.  9,  1856.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  a  world  to  say  to  you  to-night.  Where  shall  I 
begin?  I  dined  with  Charles  Sumner  to-day,  supped  with  him 
yesterday,  had  a  merry  time;  saw  Dr.  Wistar  with  him  this  morn- 
ing, the  Dr.  commands  him  to  rest  until  October  ist,  then  try  a 
journey  homeward  cautiously,  to  see  how  it  will  go.  Charles 
groans  and  moans,  and  says  it  is  a  dreadful  lot.  We  all  laugh 
at  him,  and  tell  him  posterity  declines  his  further  services.    He 


338  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

storms  at  the  administration,  and  pants  to  stump  the  state.  The 
Doctor  says  he  is  immensely  improved,  but  that  a  false  step  will 
return  him  to  the  middle  or  beginning  of  August. 

J.  F.  Clarke  writes  me  a  vigorous  and  despairing  list  of 
queries,  which  I  shall  answer  hopefully.  Things  look  brighter 
here,  but  my  heart  breaks  and  sinks  about  the  poor  people  in 
Kansas.  May  the  curses  of  the  righteous  destroy  our  tyrants. 
I  have  no  heart  to  write  on  personal  topics.  What  is  our  in- 
terest compared  with  this  immense  crisis — this  impending  fate 
of  all  American  hope  and  life — this  shipwreck  of  liberty,  truth 
and  righteousness?  .  .  . 

Cambridge,  Sept.  ii,  1856.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  wish  I  felt  like  telling  you  about  the  Kansas  meeting  last 
evening.  Lucre tia  [Hale]  came  out  to  spend  the  night  with  me. 
.  .  .  Lucretia,  Chauncey  and  I  were  quietly  taking  tea  when 
the  Stearnses  and  Augusta  King  walked  in  and  told  us  of  the 
Kansas  meeting.  So  Chauncey  [Wright]  went  after  Aunt  Kitty 
and  the  Howes,  and  we  all  proceeded  in  a  body  to  the  Hall.  I 
got  seated  by  Dr.  Francis,  when  very  soon  Theodore  Parker  came 
in  and  sat  next  me  on  the  other  side,  was  very  cordial  and  made 
many  inquiries  after  you.  Emerson  spoke  very  well,  but  was 
very  sad;  he  evidently /ee/j-  the  wrongs  of  Kansas  to  the  heart's 
core.  Mr.  [Moncure  D.]  Conway  from  Washington  spoke  very 
finely,  and  then  Huntington  in  his  deep  voice  made  the  earnest 
Christian  appeal,  and  spoke  mournfully  of  the  dreadful  apathy 
and  indifference  even  here  in  the  heart  of  New  England.  He 
closed  with  offering  five  hundred  dollars  from  his  own  small  salary, 
to  any  man  or  body  of  men,  who  would  go  to  Kansas,  and  take 
the  body  of  Ephraim  Nute,*  whether  living  or  dead  out  of  the 
hands  of  his  persecutors.  Lucretia  was  deeply  moved.  She  had 
passed  some  hours  with  Nute  just  before  he  left  for  Kansas  the 
last  time,  and  said  the  last  thing  she  heard  him  say,  in  his  quiet, 
gentle  tone,  as  if  it  were  quite  a  matter  of  course,  was,  "  I  am 
ready  to  die  for  Kansas."  Huntington's  speech  was  very  noble. 
He  said  that  God  had  been  trying  to  rouse  us  from  our  luxury,  our 
apathy,  our  indifference,  these  many  years.  First,  came  the  claims 
of  our  suffering  black  brothers  and  sisters  at  the  South.  We  slept 
on. — ^But  now  our  white  brothers  and  sisters  at  the  West  are 
falling  around  us,  and  still  we  sleep.     What  will  be  the  end  ?     He 

*  At  one  time  a  Unitarian  minister  in  Chicopee,  Mass.,  who  went  to 
Kansas  before  this  date. 


1856  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  339 

and  Mr.  Emerson  thought  that  no  family,  no  individual,  should 
rest  easy,  till  they  have  made  some  great  sacrifice  for  Kansas. 
We  ought  not  to  allow  ourselves  a  single  luxury,  while  there  is 
such  suffering  there.  A  poor  woman,  the  wife  of  one  of  the  pris- 
oners, was  then  announced  as  one  of  the  audience,  and  ready  to 
answer  any  questions  after  the  meeting  adjourned.  Aunt  Howe, 
and  Aunt  Kitty  went  and  spoke  to  her,  and  I  tried  to  listen,  but  it 
was  too  painful,  and  I  went  off.  .  .  . 

September  17  my  father  writes  from  Montreal,  whither 
he  had  gone  on  a  scientific  trip,  accompanied  by  Miss  Robbins 
and  Chauncey  Wright,  telling  of  excursions  with  Sir  WilHam 
Logan,  T.  Sterry  Hunt,  and  Professor  Dawson,  of  examining 
"specimens,  fossils,  maps,  note-books,  etc."  He  visited 
Quebec  and  Northern  New  Hampshire,  after  which  trip  he 
and  my  mother  returned  to  Philadelphia. 

Philadelphia,  OcL  3,  1856.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her 
BROTHER  Joseph  Lyman. 

...  We  did  all  we  could  to  detain  Mr.  Sumner.  The  Fur- 
nesses  and  all  greatly  disapproved  of  his  going.  We  shall  not 
cease  to  be  very  anxious  for  many  days.  I  spent  many  hours 
alone  with  him,  the  few  days  before  he  left,  Mrs.  Furness  being 
much  occupied  with  her  sick  mother.  Of  course  the  advice  of 
a  small  person  like  myself  is  worth  nothing,  but  I  told  him  the 
opinion  of  all  the  wisest  persons  I  know.  He  was  racked  with 
doubt  and  hesitation,  and  continual  telegraphs  and  sleepless 
nights,  and  was  finally  brought  to  a  decision  by  the  fixed  idea, 
which  I  believe  is  a  fallacious  one,  that  he  could  in  some  way 
affect  Burlingame's  election,  to  whom  he  seems  much  attached. 
He  has  been  greatly  depressed  by  the  state  election,  and  by  his 
own  continued  feebleness.  One  day  he  said  to  me,  "Oh  if  I 
had  but  died  last  spring!  I  know  my  own  powers,  and  nothing 
I  shall  ever  be  able  to  do  for  this  country  will  ever  be  of  half  the 
value  that  my  death  would  have  been."  I  don't  repeat  these 
things  except  to  you.     He  is  talked  about  too  much.  ... 

Philadelphia,  Oct.  3,  1856.    Peter  Lesley  to  Miss  Robbins. 

.  .  .  Saw  Burlingame,  S.,  George  S.,  Ed.  Davis  last  evening. 
All  goes  well — the  talk  is  now  of  45,000-70,000  for  F.  Don't 
tell  this,  or  you  will  be  considered  crazy  and  so  will  I. 


340  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

Philadelphia,  Oct.  19,  1856.    Peter  Lesley  to  Miss  Robbins. 

.  .  .  C.  Sumner  went  to  Washington  Friday  last.  We  are 
hopeless  about  the  next  election;  the  Democrats  have  gotten  this 
one  by  3,ooo-|-  majority,  11,000  extra  (false  ?y  votes  were  cast 
here  in  Philadelphia  alone.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Nov.  2,  1856.    Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbests. 

...  I  have  paid  an  occasional  visit  to  Mr.  Sumner  on  my  way 
to  and  from  Market,  and  grieve  to  say  that  he  left  us  yesterday. 
We  all  think  him  entirely  unfit  for  the  reception  in  Boston,  and 
shall  wait  anxiously  for  news  of  him.  He  has  been  much  de- 
pressed by  the  State  election  here,  and  has  shown  by  his  late 
journey  to  Washington  how  physically  feeble  he  is,  and  how  un- 
able to  bear  the  smallest  fatigue  or  excitement.  Margie  is 
intensely  anxious  about  him.  .  .  . 

Well!  The  day  is  at  hand.  Heaven  help  us  and  the  country. 
We  feel  almost  hopeless  here;  but  even  if  the  worst  happens, 
God  can  bring  good  out  of  the  seeming  evil,  and  He  alone  knows 
what  is  best  for  us.*  .  .  . 

Nov.  21,  1856.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Before  starting,  and  while  waiting  for  the  cars  from 
Bloomsburg,  a  young  countryman,  seventeen  years  old  or  there- 
abouts, attached  himself  to  me,  and  sat  crouching  in  the  sunshine 
under  the  depot  windows,  to  tell  me  how  he  had  never  seen  the  cars 
yet  so  nearby,  how  he  was  afraid  it  would  seem  kind  o'  strange  for 
the  first  few  miles,  how  he  had  heard  that  they  went  darned  fast, 
and  his  brother  had  gone  in  them  all  the  way  to  Milton,  three 
weeks  ago,  etc.  I  felt  the  same  sort  of  instinctive  taking  to  him 
that  I  always  do  to  the  harmless,  cute  little  creatures  of  the  woods, 
the  squirrels  and  green  snakes,  and  examined  his  inner  consti- 
tution streaked  over  with  these  quaint  prejudices,  fears  and 
wonderings,  just  as  I  would  the  antennae  or  tarsi  of  a  coleop- 
terous insect  through  a  lens.  I  wonder  if  the  savans  among  the 
angelic  hosts  examine  us  so;  or  if  our  Heavenly  Father  is  as 
much  tickled  with  our  naivetes  as  we  are  with  those  of  such 
children.  .  .  . 


*  This  refers  to  Buchanan's  election. 


1856  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  341 

Algonac,  Dec.  12,  1856.    Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

The  truth  is,  he  [Peter]  found  as  he  always  does  a  great  deal 
of  unexpected  work  in  this  iron  business.  For  instance,  he  now 
expects  to  be  obhged  personally  to  inspect  and  visit  all  the  fur- 
naces in  the  state,  an  immense  undertaking,  and  one  which  will 
keep  him  away  nearly  two  months,  probably  the  whole  of  Jan- 
uary and  February.  .  .  . 

Washington,  Dec.  14,  1856.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  ,  .  My  business  here  is  to  collect  materials  for  a  map,  which 
Hall  wishes,  to  explain  his  report  to  the  War  Department  of  the 
fossils  of  the  boundary  of  Mexico.  Major  Emory  introduced  me 
to  Captain  Humphreys  yesterday,  and  I  saw  Prof.  Henry,  and 
Spencer  Baird  and  Dr.  Andelys,  but  not  Dr.  Newberry.  .  .  . 

Washington,  Dec.  16,  1856.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  I  danced  attendance  on  some  men,  and  to-day 
on  others.  It  is  a  miserable  city  to  work  in.  Can  do  nothing 
before  ten  nor  after  three.  Nobody  knows  where  anything  is, 
whether  it  can  be  got,  or  whose  business  it  is,  and  jealousy  of 
one  another  characterizes  both  individuals  and  bureaus.  Every- 
body is  trying  to  keep  and  get  credit  for  what  passes  through 
their  hands.  Dr.  Andelys,  Newberry,  Hayden,  Baird,  Henry,  Lap, 
Humphreys,  Lieutenants  Ives,  Parke,  and  Mr.  Campbell  have  all 
treated  me  cordially.  Last  evening  Prof.  Le  Conte  of  the  south 
gave  us  his  first  eloquent  lecture  on  coal,  before  a  fine  audience 
in  the  Smithsonian,  and  stole  a  little  of  my  thunder.  (I  couldn't 
help  laughing  at  his  literal  quotation.)  But  I  forgave  him  as 
he  stole  a  great  deal  more  of  Ruskin's.  But  it  was  rather  fine. 
Eloquence  is  a  gift  of  these  Southerners.  They  appropriate 
charmingly.  I  got  quite  new  views  of  my  own  ducks  and  drakes, 
and  admired  them  more  when  another  stroked  them  than  I  ever 
did  in  my  own  hands.  .  .  . 

Washington,  Wednesday,  Feb.  11,  1857.    Peter  Lesley 
to  his  Wife. 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  do  more  than  record  the  principal 
events  of  the  last  forty-eight  hours  and  leave  it  to  your  imagina- 
tion to  fill  up  the  details.  .  .  .  All  yesterday  I  spent  in  this  seat 
(Wm.  Thayer's  reporter's  desk  in  the  gallery  of  the  Senate  Cham- 


342  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

ber,  over  the  speaker's  head)  Hstening  to  an  exceedingly  inter- 
esting debate  on  the  Ohio  River  survey,  which  Butler  of  S.C. 
shook  his  long  gray  locks  at,  and  Stewart  of  Michigan  made  a 
fool  of  himself  against;  which  was  splendidly  advocated  by  Pugh 
of  Ohio  (whom  I  greatly  admire),  and  nobly  sustained  by  Critten- 
den (whom  I  have  long  desired  to  hear),  in  language  and  senti- 
ment which  commands  my  unqualified  admiration.  Opposite 
me  is  Sumner's  vacant  seat,  which, — tell  James  Furness, — speaks 
in  an  awful  thunder  tone,  like  a  volcano  in  activity  on  the  distant 
horizon.  Not  that  I  wish  to  imitate  Mrs.  Browning's  "Loud 
thunders  of  white  silence," — ask  William  Henry  Furness  where 
that  comes  from, — or  get  up  enthusiasm  for  want  of  facts.  But 
I  have  been  awed  and  strangely  moved  by  the  sight  of  the  chair, 
and  the  strange  scene  around  it.  There  is  certainly  a  majesty 
in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States  which  all  our  prejudices  and 
all  its  failing  cannot  hide.  And  if  they  be  not  great  men  who 
come  here — (I  think  they  be) — they  must  be  made  great  men  by 
being  here.  That  is  different  indeed  from  saying  good  men,  I 
confess.  But  I  saw  and  heard  more  good  yesterday  than  I  ex- 
pected to  see  or  hear  in  the  U.S.  Senate  in  a  year.  As  we  grow 
old,  we  come  to  know  more  and  more  that  all  things  outside  of  our 
own  circle  deserve  more  respect  than  we  give  them,  and  all  things 
inside  of  it,  less. 

Washington,  February  ii    1857.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

You  see  to  what  shifts  I  am  reduced.  But  I  am  in  the  Capi- 
tol Library,  and  they  are  too  poor  to  indulge  in  the  luxury  of 
ink.  They  only  have  $25,000,000  to  get  rid  of.  The  question 
is  how  to  do  it.  They  will  probably  take  off  duties,  and  kill  all 
our  manufactures,  Lron,  Cotton,  Wool,  Sugar.  Here  I  am  to 
protect  Iron.  Poor  abstraction  that  I  am — called  upon  to  pro- 
tect the  realest  and  hardest  reahty  of  real  things !  It  amuses  me. 
I  have  been  at  it  for  a  month,  erecting  paper  fortifications,  tabu- 
lated bastions,  formuhstic  curtains,  newspaper  articles  for  re- 
doubts and  covered  ways,  bomb  proofs  in  the  shape  of  private 
correspondence,  and  mines  under  the  pamphlet  lines  of  the  enemy. 
In  the  end  the  conflict  is  of  a  very  doubtful  issue,  and  we  may 
find  ourselves  beaten  after  any  number  of  victories  of  any  size. 
I  am  however  heartily  interested  in  the  fight  and  wish  the  iron 
interest  success,  with  a  real  if  not  an  entire  disinterestedness. 
One  gets  to  love  anything  which  one  tries  to  foster,  and  the  poorer 
or  sicker  it  is,   the  more.     I  am  pledged    to.  .  .  Protection, — 


i8s7  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  343 

odd  as  it  may  seem, — and  all  because  I  see  that  the  prosperity 
of  the  country  at  a  thousand  points  is  half  involved  in  the  success 
of  innumerable  furnaces,  founderies,  forges  and  rolling  mills, 
scattered  all  over  a  dozen  states,  and  feeding  half  a  million  of 
people,  besides  giving  point  and  spirit  to  their  intelligence  and 
energy.  I  see  something  so  real  in  all  this.  The  good  is  so  tan- 
gible. One  can  count  heads  and  daily  wages,  and  follow  the 
results  into  so  many  of  the  channels  of  the  arts,  fairly  out  into 
the  world  of  science, — that  I  am  heartily  devoted  to  Protecting 
Iron.  .  .  . 

Washington,  Feb.  13,  1857.    Peter  Lesley  to 
Lydia  Maria  Child. 

I  have  read  Mrs.  Browning's  "Aurora."  I  despised  it.  I 
pished  and  phewed  and  spoke  disrespectfully  of  it.  I  read  pages 
here  and  pages  there  and  confounded  it  circumstantially.  Sophy 
Howard  came  and  sat  and  praised  it,  and  I  dispraised  it,  and 
grew  furious  at  Susie's  coming  to  her  aid.  I  read  your  admira- 
tion of  it  and  said  it  was  a  weak  spot  I  had  found  in  you.  Fi- 
nally one  evening  I  was  left  at  home  alone,  sick,  and  cross  and 
wickedly  disposed  toward  all  men,  and  towards  "Aurora  Leigh" 
in  particular, — but  nevertheless  took  it  up  and  read  it.  I  began 
near  the  end — and  read  on.  The  pages  began  to  glow  and  my 
own  soul  grew  serene.  I  woke  in  a  sort  of  Eden  of  delights,  and 
hour  after  hour  passed  away  in  a  rosy  sort  of  dream.  They 
returned,  and  caught  me  in  a  crowning  emotion  and  triumphed 
over  me, — and  so  may  you.  It  is  a  noble  poem.  The  episode 
is  wonderfully  beautiful,  and  has  a  sort  of  might  about  it,  such  as 
I  suppose  resided  in  Marian's  beautiful  face. 

Maria,  Maria,  be  good!  I  hope  some  day  to  see  you  at  the 
head  of  an  "Establishment."  How  wonderfully  fine  a  Regina 
Britannica  you  would  make !  How  you  would  sweep  up  the  Rev- 
erend Peabodies  into  wicker  baskets  and  sell  them  for  overdried 
pulse!  How  you  would  hold  the  little  head  of  the  Reviews, 
and  pry  open  their  contorted  baby  mouths  with  a  large  spoonful 
of  sulphur  and  treacle — (as  I  was  treated  when  a  boy,  mark  you, 
and  therefore  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about) — and  tell  them  to 
swallow  that;  it  would  do  them  good;  it  would  cleanse  their 
blood;  it  would  enable  them  to  receive  Religious  Ideas.  Ah! 
my  hands  rub  at  the  picture. 

Establishments  may  not  like  you, — but  if  you  had  the  making 
of  them,  you  would  find  that  everybody  would  like  them;  and 
you  yourself  would  not  be  so  bitter  against  them.     Our  phi- 


344  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

losophy  ends  in  establishments  of  some  kind  or  other,  always; 
and  in  fact  they  are  natural  institutions,  just  like  trees.  Trees 
are  establishments,  you  know.  Thank  Heaven,  they  don't  con- 
tinue to  grow  forever,  and  they  are  sure  some  day  or  other 
to  perish,  every  one.  But  what  would  one  poor  fleeting  sky- 
scape do,  without  these  grand  establishments  of  forest  and  moun- 
tain under  it  ?  The  conservatism  of  the  world  has  become  really 
quite  beautiful  to  me,  since  I  backed  off  far  enough  in  this  direc- 
tion from  it  to  view  it  in  this  light.  Its  precipices,  avalanches, 
howling  wildernesses,  freezing  pinnacles,  heartless  cavernous 
immensities,  in  which  all  individualism  seems  swallowed  up,  and 
an  infinite  Fate  everywhere  forbids  and  punishes  Liberty, — all 
this  is  a  reality — but  it  is  the  frame  of  the  picture,  the  tough  bone 
skeleton  of  the  rosy  flesh,  which  is  the  point  of  designation  and 
return  for  the  immortal  free — free  soul. 

Come,  dear  friend,  I  begin  to  enjoy  the  world,  now  I  see  it 
as  it  is  and  accept  it  at  all  points.  Let  us  walk  round  evil  as 
we  swerve  from  the  puddles  in  the  road;  but  in  the  Stanfield  [?] 
of  it  even  these  have  their  indispensability  and  beauty.  Really 
now,  since  I  got  rid  of  my  own,  I  should  rather  hate  to  lose  all 
the  white  neckcloths  out  of  the  panorama.  They  look  quite  as 
picturesque  as  their  kin,  the  peacocks  and  penguins; — to  say 
the  least. — I  begin  to  suspect  that  we  may  say  of  them,  as  of 
spiders,  and  sloths, — they  must  have  their  uses,  or  they  would 
not  be;   and  uses  involve  beauties.  .  .  . 

But  patience  now,  this  is  the  very  last  page.  Remember, 
I  have  it  in  my  power  to  write  four  hundred.  I  wonder  if  it 
won't  be  a  favorite  amusement  in  the  coming  state  of  exist- 
ence, to  write  letters  across  the  nebulous  systems  on  Morse's 
telegraph.  The  materialistic  philosophies  of  our  day  seem  to 
leave  heaven  bare  of  most  matters  except  electricity.  Can  it  be 
that  the  Almighty  Wisdom  can  find  employment  to  their  tastes 
for  so  many  universefuls  of  thinkers  and  doers!  Let  us  trust 
Him,  and  be  patient.  If  I  could  only  be  sure  (here  or  hereafter) 
that  those  loved  me  really  whom  I  really  loved,  I  could  be  con- 
tent to  sit  like  a  chained  bear  on  the  top  of  the  north  pole  for- 
ever, and  be  pelted  at  with  icebergs  by  northwest  exploring  ex- 
peditions ad  infinitum.  Love  involves  all — swallows  up  all — 
receives  all  means  and  ends  into  its  own  bosom,  and  remains  the 
universe,  whether  full  or  empty.  My  hunger  to  be  loved  grows 
forever.  Every  friend  becomes  more  and  more  indispensable, 
and  every  loss  inconsolable.  If  we  regard  Love  as  Soul-light, 
the  eastern  faith  that  the  good  are  absorbed  into  light  is  true. 


i8s7  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  345 

Like  space — which  exists  before  and  after  all  material  things, 
equally  well  with  and  without  them, — Love  is  a  reality,  and 
whole  world,  for  or  in  spite  of,  with  or  without,  all  actions,  ends 
and  goods  whatever.     Is  it  not  so  ?    Are  we  not  thus  immortal  ? 

Philadelphia,  Feh.  22,  1857.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  C.  Robbins. 

Shall  I  laugh  at  you  ?  shall  I  scold  you  ?  shall  I  apologize  ? 
shall  I  write  )^ou  an  essay  on  politics?  shall  I  refer  to  the  fact 
that  I  write  on  Washington's  birthday?  shall  I  remind  you  that 
my  only  historical  principle  has  always  been  never  to  be  con- 
sistent? or  shall  I  prove,  secundum  artem,  verbatim  et  literatim 
et  sequiterim,  that  I  have  never  run  the  risk  of  changing?  No. 
I  will  quote  St.  Paul.  O  woman  of  Cambridge,  thou  art,  I  per- 
ceive, in  this  thing  too  superstitious.  The  idea!  I — I — I — a 
recreant  and  apostate  from  the  universally  true  and  nineteenth- 
century-wise  divine  idea  of  free  soil,  to  the  old  fogy  theories  of 
special  tariff  and  protection!  How  coidd  you?  Beauty  of 
science?  It  shines  as  gloriously  as  ever  into  my  soul;  and  the 
hour  strikes  when  all  nations,  freed  of  tyrants,  shall  toil  pro 
&0W0  wm/z^o,  and  be  remunerated.  "Glory  of  freedom"?  Never 
truer  than  now!  Freedom  for  all  the  nationalities!  But  not 
for  the  aristocrats  and  despots,  who  pocket  the  consequences  of 
our  free-trade  experiments,  while  their  starving  poor  starve  on 
just  as  before.  Freedom?  Why,  let  us  do  all  we  can  to  bring 
over  to  this  land  the  oppressed  fabricators,  and  then  their  em- 
ployers and  masters  may  go  to  the  devil  and  starve,  while  they 
will  become  coefficients  of  liberty  here  where  they  are  needed. 
The  "excellence  of  free  trade"  is  a  general  law,  including  appar- 
ent exceptions,  as  every  real  current  involves  eddies.  To  offer  a 
fictitious  free  trade  in  iron,  is  to  ruin  our  iron-works,  and  give 
the  English  nobility  a  monopoly  of  the  manufacture; — what 
follows?  direr  enslavement  of  their  own  work  hands,  and  the 
injury  of  the  free-trade  background  here.  No,  the  weapons  with 
which  Free  Trade  shall  get  the  victory,  are  special  accurately 
and  scientifically  adjusted  tariff.  For  example,  England  pro- 
tected her  manufactures  from  year  to  year,  until  they  were  per- 
fect, and  then  came  English  free  trade.  Let  our  iron-works  be 
protected  five  years  longer,  and  no  one  will  ask  for  a  tariff.  Some 
abolitionists  desire  the  opening  of  the  slave  trade,  for  the  same 
reason — to  abolish  slavery.  I  do  not, — because  there  are  better 
ways.  But  not  so  with  iron,  wool,  etc.  Protection  first,  and  free 
trade  follows  inevitably;    just  as  you  protect  a  child,  sure  that 


346  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

thereby  you  insure  his  manly  independence.     The  only  question 
is  the  how,  and  how  far. 


On  May  19,  1857,  a  second  daughter  was  born  to  the 
household,  much  to  their  joy.  My  father  had,  however, 
little  time  to  enjoy  in  peace  the  new  baby.  It  Avas  a  busy 
season.  Already  in  March  and  April  he  had  spent  a  num- 
ber of  weeks  in  New  England,  visiting  iron-works  and  mills 
in  many  places, — ^as  far  north  as  Canada  and  south  into 
Rhode  Island  and  Southern  Massachusetts.  These  jour- 
neys were  followed  almost  immediately  by  trips  into  Western 
and  Northern  Pennsylvania,  and  June  found  him  again 
travelling  constantly,  to  nearer  points  in  Pennsylvania, 
and  then  into  New  York.  This  constant  travelling  was 
often  very  irksome  to  him,  and  he  had  frequent  twinges  of 
homesickness  and  depression.  Always,  however,  his  in- 
tense interest  in  his  profession,  his  real  love  of  and  satisfac- 
tion in  hard  work,  his  delight  in  nature,  and  his  (sometimes 
amused)  study  of  man  in  the  very  varied  conditions  in 
which  he  found  him,  carried  him  through  the  days  with 
usual  cheerfulness.  One  of  the  things  which  he  often  re- 
ferred to  in  later  years  was  his  enjoyment  of  the  small 
theatre  companies  and  their  performances,  which  he  often 
came  across  in  his  wanderings.  The  following  extract 
illustrates  one  of  these  occasions : — 

Reading,  June  15,  1857. 

I  went  round  to  the  different  works  after  supper,  and  about 
nine  and  a  half  stopped  before  a  little  theatre,  through  the  win- 
dows of  which  we  could  see  the  green-room  proceedings — and 
went  in.  As  usual,  I  was  paid  well  by  a  sight  at  a  funny  audience 
showing  funny  emotions,  at  very  funny  acting;  but  especially  by 
a  real  feast,  over  hearty,  sound,  honest,  English  love — tried  and 
found  trustworthy — noble  and  disinterested,  and  rewarded  well. 
— Such  scenery  of  life  as  is  peculiar,  I  sometimes  think,  to  the 
English  and  German  nature,  but  must  be  germane  to  all  human 
nature.  I  prefer  to  think  so, — so  do  you.  I  never  go  to  a  country 
theatre  without  feeling  bettered  in  every  noble  sentiment,  and 
grateful  to  the  unknown,  obscure,  commonplace  writers  of  these 
very  ridiculous,  but  very  admirable,  and  beneficial  plays,  and  to 


i8S7  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  347 

the  poor  provincial  players  who  enact  them.  Certainly  the  play 

I  heard  to-day  was  better  for  the  people  in  that  room — myself 

included — than  most  of  the  sermons  I  have  heard  the  last  ten 
years. 

He  loved  dearly,  in  later  life,  the  parts  of  Dickens's 
v^orks  which  dealt  with  these  simple  players.  Nicholas 
Nickleby  and  his  Crummleses,  Miss  Snevellicci  and  the 
Infant  Phenomenon,  were  no  impossible  exaggerations 
to  him.  He  had  seen  their  sisters  and  brothers  in  the  pro- 
fession, not  only  before  the  footlights,  but  in  the  intercourse 
of  many  a  country  tavern,  or  among  the  varied  discom- 
forts of  travel  to  which  he,  as  well  as  they,  were  subjected, 
in  cold  stages  on  rough  roads,  or  on  the  early  railways  of 
both  East  and  West. 

Indeed,  he  was  a  hearty  lover  of  Dickens,  and  of  other 
novelists  who  dealt  with  "all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men." 
He  had  himself  lived  among  such  varieties  of  human  kind, 
and  was  so  true  a  lover  of  humanity  that  strange  types  sel- 
dom seemed  outre  to  him.  He  could  match  them  through 
experiences  of  his  own.  He  loved  humor,  but  it  must  be 
kind,  to  please  him.  Satire  or  the  cutting  sneer  he  could 
not  endure,  be  it  ever  so  witty.  Neither  did  he  enjoy  the 
description  of  tedious  mediocrity,  especially  smug  respecta- 
bility. It  did  not  amuse  him,  but,  on  the  contrary,  bored 
him  wofully. 

Algonac,  July  30,  1857.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband, 

.  .  On  Sunday  I  read  Wendell  Phillips'  speech  at  Framing- 
ham,  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  lent  me  by  Mrs.  Brown,  in  the  Stand- 
ard. It  seems  to  me  one  of  his  most  magnificent  efforts,  and 
makes  one  feel  that  the  subject  can  never  be  exhausted.  I  also 
read  an  article  by  Mr.  [Brownlee  (?)]  Brown  in  the  July  number 
of  Putnam,  (the  same  that  contains  Lucretia's  story),  on  the  Ideals 
of  Modern  Fiction.  It  does  not  give  me  a  high  idea  of  his  mind, 
is  rambling,  has  not  point  enough,  and  wanders  into  regions  that 
I  left  long  ago.  The  transcendental  fashion  of  saying,  "I  want 
to  know  what  to  do  with  my  day, — how  to  influence  my  neigh- 
bors," &c.  does  not  come  home  to  me  at  all.  What  am  /  or  my 
influence  anyway?    The  duties  and  necessities  and   pleasures  of 


348  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

every  day  seem  to  me  sufficient,  without  questioning  or  scanning 
them  very  much.  There  is  too  much  consciousness  in  all  this 
philosophy  to  please  me,  and  what  he  says  of  Dickens,  and  of 
"John  Halifax,"  and  art  generally,  I  don't  agree  with.  And  yet  I 
think  we  do  not  do  enough  to  make  our  homes  agreeable  by  the 
cultivation  of  Art.  How  hard  to  do  it  when  the  body  is  too 
weary  with  the  happiest  cares  of  life,  to  be  able  to  practise  the 
finest  music,  or  listen  to  the  finest  poem,  or  look  at  the  most  beauti- 
ful painting! . . 

Myer's  Mills,  Somerset  Co.,  Aug.  2,  1857. 
Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Friday  night  I  passed  with  unexpected  pleasure  in  the 
society  of  Noah  Webster's  son  and  grandson,  and  pleasant  talks 
about  New  England  people,  Percival  the  geologist.  Professor 
Fitch  and  others.  His  father  and  yours,  Susie,  were  old  cronies, 
he  said.  His  son  played  a  fine  Bohm  flute,  and  he  accompanied 
him  on  a  boxwood  eight-key  flute.  I  played  them  some  German 
airs,  and  among  others  the  " Im  Grabe  ist  Ruh,"  which  they  ad- 
mired exceedingly. 

This  afternoon  I  lay  on  the  bed  reading  M.  Bost's  first  volume. 
It  is  admirably  written;  has  intense  interest  for  me;  speaks  of  all 
those  men  I  met,  of  all  the  events  I  was  interested  in,  and  appeals 
with  wonderful  accord  to  my  convictions  and  penchants.  I  wish 
I  had  time  to  translate  it.  It  would  be  a  delicious  labor  of  love 
to  do  it  and  send  the  proceeds  to  him.  .  .  . 

I  have  written  Lovering  that  I  shall  read  three  papers:  [at 
the  American  Association  of  Science]  on  Tongued  Flexures  in 
Coal;  on  Ethnological  Bearings  of  Certain  Architectural  Forms; 
and  on  the  Word  "  Celt."  Am  I  not  bold  ?  for  none  of  them  are 
yet  written.  .  .  . 

Fairfield,  Somerset  Co.,  Aug.  4,  1857.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  am  deHghted  to  find  the  Kentucky  Anvil  Rock  here,  in 
its  true  place;  an  immense  thickness  of  coals;  a  facsimile  section 
of  the  Dauphin  Co.  basin  sections;  and  plenty  of  fossils.  I  shall 
bring  home  a  fine  collection  and  a  set  of  new  ideas.  Now  I  must 
write  to  Lovering.  I  am  still  charmed  with  M.  Bost's  life.  He 
says,  page  loi,  "  Faites  une  declaration  de  voire  foi  chaque  fois 
qu'on  vous  en  demandera,  mats  ne  stereotypez  rien."  This  is 
better  than  I  said  it  in  my  address. 

I  have  beautifully  arranged  my  "Celt."  I  sat  in  the  parlor 
alone  looking  at  the  full  moon  two  hours  last  evening,  and  thought 


i8s7  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  349 

of  you,  and  Mamie,  and  the  Celts,  and  made  discoveries.     It  was 
very  much  like  telescope  work  in  an  observatory,  I  thought.  .  .  . 

Algonac,  Aug.  4,  1857.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  went  this  afternoon  to  visit  Sculptor  Brown's  wife,  while 
the  family  were  driving  out,  the  first  visit  I  have  made  anywhere. 
Their  little  cottage  is  the  very  picture  of  comfort,  just  such  a 
little  quiet  home  as  you  and  I  should  delight  to  pass  our  days  in, 
with  our  children  about  us,  and  green  fields  for  them  to  roam 
in.*  I  enjoyed  my  conversation  with  her  very  much.  She  is  a 
sensible,  cultivated  woman,  devoted  to  her  husband,  and  perfectly 
happy  in  her  own  resources,  a  Vermont  woman  with  the  usual 
feeble  health  of  New  England  women,  and  also  the  high  standard 
of  life,  and  practical  good  sense,  that  abound  there.  .  .  . 

Yesterday  we  drove  to  Idlewild,  Willis'  place.  .  .  . 

Montreal,!  Aug.  13,  1857.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Interrupted  to  go  to  dinner.  I  read  my  paper  this  morn- 
ing and  took  part  in  some  discussions  with  Logan,  Ramsay,  Dana 
and  others,  of  a  very  interesting  kind.    Now  I  must  go  see  Hall. . . . 

Montreal,  Aug.  14,  1857.    To  his  Wife. 

.  ,  .  Our  papers  of  interest  are  nearly  all  read,  and  I  have  seen 
almost  all  the  people  I  wish  to  see,  and  after  the  debate  to-morrow 
on  Ramsay's  paper  of  yesterday  on  the  British  fossils,  I  think  I 
shall  start  for  Newburg.  The  excitement  is  great  and  constant, 
and  I  can  get  no  rest  until  I  am  with  you.  I  wish  to  spend  two 
or  three  days  with  you.  Yesterday  we  all  went  over  to  St.  Helen's 
Island,  where  the  fort  is,  and  Sir  William  Logan  took  Ramsay, 
Hall,  and  us  to  see  the  Clinton  Conglomerate  full  of  lower  Silurian 
fossiliferous  pebbles  and  capped  and  underlaid  apparently  with 
Niagara  fossils.  This  is  one  of  three  little  outliers  of  that  great 
formation.  He  told  me  that  after  I  left  him  on  Lake  Magog  last 
year  he  found  thousands  of  Niagara  fossils. — ^To  see  these  will 
be  one  of  the  few  things  to  detain  me.  I  have  seen  B.  SiUiman 
and  his  wife,  Dana,  Hosford,  Gould,  Henry,  St.  Alexander, 
Guyot,  Whittlesey,  Whitney  and  wife,  Haldeman  and  Mrs.  Haley, 

*  It  was  a  pleasant  coincidence  that  in  later  years  my  mother's  young- 
est daughter  and  her  husband  came  to  this  very  cottage,  and  made  it  their 
home, — "Little  Brook"  as  the  place  was  named. 

t  At  a  meeting  of  the  American  Association  for  the  Advancement  of 
Arts  and  Sciences, 


350  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

Bache  and  his  wife,  Dawson  and  his  wife,  Anderson  of  Rochester, 
Wilson  of  Toronto,  Le  Conte  of  S.  Carolina,  Gibbons  of  the  Assay- 
office,  S.  Carolina,  Emmons  and  his  wife,  Daniels,  Swallow,  of 
Missouri,  Hall,  his  wife  and  daughter.  Dr.  Hitchcock  and  wife. 
Prof.  Sanborn,  Holton,  Hubbard,  Ruggles,  Wyman,  and  many 
others  of  inferior  note.  We  have  had  eulogies  on  Bailey  and  Red- 
field,  dead  last  year.  A  great  entertainment  given  by  the  Nat. 
Hist.  Society  in  the  evening  was  so  badly  managed,  that  Hall's 
address  was  only  half  delivered  and  the  Governor-General,  Eyre, 
left  town  in  a  huff.  ...  I  read  one  paper  on  coal,  and  two  on  my 
Arkism,  which  this  time  seems  to  have  excited  some  interest.  I 
read  to-morrow  on  Lesquereux's  identifications,  what  I  trust  will 
do  him  justice.  Joe  seems  highly  interested.  He  is  much  liked 
as  acting  secretary  of  subsection  B,  the  ethnological.  Hunt  is  a 
great  man  here,  and  has  received  the  highest  and  heartiest  scien- 
tific applause.  Ramsay  is  a  noble  fellow,  and  we  have  been 
taught  with  delight  the  wonderful  analogies  of'  Scandinavian, 
British  and  American  lower  Rocks.  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
these  things  when  we  meet.  .  ,  . 

Philadelphia,  Sept.  5,  1857.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wipe. 

...  I  am  writing  my  report  on  Somerset  Co.  for  Wolf;  my 
papers  for  the  proceedings  of  the  Montreal  meeting;  my  table 
of  rolling  mills,  and  seeing  various  parties  on  the  Coal  Burner  and 
Coal  Land  Business.  .  .  . 


In  September,  1857,  on  returning  home  from  New  Eng- 
land, my  mother  was  delighted  to  find  in  her  little  parlor 
''an  excellent  portrait  of  Peter,  in  oils,  by  William  Henry 
Furness,  one  that  I  am  sure  will  satisfy  every  friend  of  his, 
and  will  be  most  valuable  to  me,"  she  writes. 

Autumn,  1857  or  1858  probably.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  am  hard  at  work  on  my  lectures  and  paintings,  and  Joe 
on  his.  .  .  .  Theodore  Parker  has  just  written  me  a  queer  little 
letter,  just  Hke  him.  Wendell  Philips  gave  us  his  "Lost  Arts," 
and  a  grand  speech  on  Slavery  last  week.  He  means  to  give  up 
lectures  next  winter.  .  .  . 

Give  my  love  to  Chauncey,  and  tell  him  to  spend  the  next 
two  years  among  the  stars,  for  the  earth  will  not  be  habitable 


PETER  LESLEY 

From  a  portrait  by  William  Henry  Furness  in  1857 


i857  PROFESSIONAL   LIFE  351 

till  after  that.  I  wish  I  had  any  brains  left.  I  would  write  for  the 
magazines  and  newspapers,  and  die  at  the  rate  of  a  penny  a  line 
like  other  literary  ruins,  till  something  turned  up.  ...  As  for 
the  times,  the  worst  seems  over,  and  I  would  not  be  surprised  if 
two  months  saw  things  returned  nearly  to  their  ordinary  state.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Oct.  11,  1857.     Peter  Lesley 
TO  Lydia  Maria  Child. 

.  .  .  We  have  awful  times.  A  nightmare  broods  over  society. 
The  City  is  as  still  as  a  Sabbath  day.  The  oldest,  wealthiest 
houses  are  crashing  down  day  by  day,  as  their  heaviest  payment 
days  come  round.  Scores  of  thousands  are  out  of  work.  Bread 
riots  are  dreaded.  Winter  is  coming.  God  alone  foresees  the 
history  of  the  next  six  months.  .  .  . 

October,  1857.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her 
Aunt  Catherine  Robbests. 

.  .  .  But,  oh!  Aunt  Kitty,  what  lessons  we  are  being  taught  as 
a  nation;  shall  we  remain  deaf,  dumb  and  blind?  Mr.  Furness 
has  preached  three  fine  sermons  on  the  times.  How  3^ou  would 
have  enjoyed  them!  If  we  do  not  now  allow  such  truths  to  sink 
into  our  hearts  as  the  Saviour  so  earnestly  taught,  when  shall  we  ? 
"Man  shall  not  Hve  by  bread  alone,"  &c.  "The  just  shall  live 
by  faith,"  and  many  others. 

We  see  terrible  suffering,  and  hear  of  more.  A  poor  woman 
walked  all  the  way  from  Frankford,  with  twin  children  on  each 
arm,  only  three  weeks  old,  to  beg  Peter  for  bread;  the  babies 
were  starving  because  she  was.  So  many  large  factories  and 
establishments  have  turned  away  their  hands,  that  the  very  worst 
consequences  are  feared,  when  the  cold  weather  comes.  At 
home,  we  have  all  we  can  ask  for,  but  it  is  depressing  to  think 
of  the  thousands  who  have  not.  Peter  sold  stock  at  an  immense 
sacrifice,  to  carry  us  through  this  crisis,  and  we  shall  spin  it  out 
to  its  utmost  extent.  He  receives  no  salary,  and  has  no  private 
work.  Do  not  speak  of  this,  it  is  all  we  can  do  now,  and  we  bless 
Father  Lesley  for  the  care  and  toil  with  which  he  saved  us  any- 
thing. .  .  . 

November,  1857.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her 
Aunt  Catherine  Robblns. 

.  .  .  Peter  and  Joe  went  off  this  morning  to  pass  the  day  at 
Eagleswood,  and  give  a  lecture  there,  according  to  an  invitation 
from  Mr.  Marcus  Spring.  .  .  , 


352  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

Well,  what  a  winter  this  is!  Generally,  when  individuals 
suffer,  they  can  turn  their  minds  to  others  who  are  more  pros- 
perous; but  the  peculiarity  of  this  time  is,  that  there  is  no  such 
diversion  of  one's  cares,  for  all  are  more  or  less  involved  in  the 
public  calamity.  I  do  not  doubt  that  a  great  deal  of  good  will 
grow  out  of  it.  Peter  possesses  his  soul  in  much  patience,  and 
is  much  less  depressed  and  anxious  than  I  should  have  supposed. 
Do  you  know  that  he  and  I,  between  us,  wrote  fifty  letters  to 
every  probable  quarter  where  he  might  lecture,  and  they  have 
all  been  answered,  and  not  one  with  encouragement.  So  that 
hope  has  faded  out.  Well,  he  learned  to  labor  long  ago,  and 
now  he  must  learn  to  "wait." — I  expect  to  have  a  boarder  in  a 
week  or  two.  .  .  . 

We  went  to  hear  Wendell  Phillips  lecture,  both  evenings  he 
was  here.  Mr.  Furness  sent  us  tickets.  I  enjoyed  both  the 
"Lost  Arts"  and  the  "Slavery"  extremely.  It  was  a  great  treat 
to  me  to  listen  to  him.  When  you  write,  will  you  some  time  tell 
me  who  wrote  each  article  in  the  Atlantic  Review? — Of  course 
I  recognize  Emerson's  and  Lowell's  pieces,  but  there  are  some 
I  don't  know.    Who  wrote  "Pendlam  "  ?  * 

Philadelphia,  Nov.  io,  1858.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Theodore  Parker. 

I  feel  perfect  security  in  attacking  your  good-nature  for.  a 
favor.  My  business  (narrated  above  after  the  most  approved 
fashion  of  the  puff)  [in  a  letterhead]  has  collapsed  under  the 
pressure; — or  if  you  please  retired  to  winter  quarters  and  will 
hibernate  profoundly,  the  good  Lord  only  knows  how  long.  Mean- 
time eight  dozen  teeth,  incisors,  canines,  and  molars,  and  an  extra 
mouth  without  one  of  either  kind,  gnash  hungrily  around  me. 
I  must,  in  a  word,  lecture  this  winter,  and  will  be  very  grateful 
to  )^ou  for  suggesting  my  name  for  any  lists  to  be  made  up  this 
winter  anywhere  or  for  any  vacancies.  To  be  up  to  the  hetero- 
dox notch,  as  bread  is  my  object,  I  shall  lecture  on  stones.  My 
professional  theme  is  Iron,  in  connection  with  coal,  and  its  gen- 
eral geology ;  and  as  I  have  been  Acting  Secretary  to  the  American 
Iron  Association  for  a  year  past,  I  have  a  mass  of  unpublished 

*  See  page  583  of  the  Fiftieth  Anniversary  Number,  November,  1907, 
Atlantic  Monthly,  "An  Early  Contributor's  Recollections,"  by  John 
Townsend  Trowbridge,  in  which  he  writes,  "My  story  was  'Pendlam, 
a  Modern  Reformer,'  a  satire  aimed  not  at  spiritualism  itself,  but  at  the 
follies  and  impostures  that  flaunted  in  its  train,  and  cast  discredit  on  the 
cause  with  which  they  claimed  kinship." 


i857  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  353 

information  which  with  suitable  illustrations  I  can  make  popularly 
interesting:  I  have  other  reasons  for  wishing  to  present  the  sub- 
ject in  many  places  this  winter.  We  intend  this  office  to  be  the 
centre  point  of  the  iron  manufacture  of  the  New  World,  so  far 
as  organization  is  concerned. 

I  have  no  objection  to  ride  some  of  my  old  hobbies,  however, 
and  would  like  very  well  to  lecture  on  Primeval  History,  with 
Language  and  Architecture  to  illustrate  my  particular  views. 

The  occasional  hour  in  the  year  which  I  enjoy  in  your  won- 
derful room  is  a  sort  of  Aldebaran  in  my  memory,  and  I  feel  sure 
that  your  happiness  would  be  doubled  if  you  could  rightly  know 
how  much  happiness  is  thus  received  by  the  many  like 

Your  friend,  J.  P.  Lesley. 

My  dear  wife  would  most  cordially  unite  with  me  in  warmest 
expressions  of  respect  and  esteem  if  she  were  here.  Her  health 
has  suddenly  improved,  within  a  few  days,  and  we  believe  in  a 
Merry  Christmas  and  Happy  New  Year  with  all  our  hearts.  .  .  . 

Eagleswood,  N.J.,  Nov.  27,  1857.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  What  shall  I  say  ?  It  is  more  beautiful  here  every  hour. 
My  lecture  pleased  them  yesternight.  Joe  left  this  morning — and 
me  in  bed  until  nine  o'clock.  At  eleven,  we  began  to  bury  James 
G.  Birney,  and  placed  him  in  the  grave  at  one  o'clock, — strew- 
ing evergreens  and  singing  hymns.  If  you  could  have  heard 
Theodore  Weld  eulogize  him,  and  the  wet  eyes,  and  holy  hymns 
■ — I  should  find  my  happiness  in  this  little  visit  complete.  I  have 
just  been  round  with  Marcus  Spring  engineering  and  looking  at 
the  house,  and  selecting  sites  and  sights.  Now  I  stipulate  for 
a  quiet  day  to-morrow,  and  may  take  the  four  o'clock  boat  and 
be  with  you  at  9  p.m.;  but  I  think  I  shall  stay  until  Monday, 
and  see  you  Monday  noon. 

Philadelphia,  Dec.  26,  1857.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  wrote  you  that  Joe  and  I  heard  Mr.  Foster  *  about 
Kansas,  last  Sunday,  and  that  I  was  extremely  interested.  On 
Tuesday  evening  we  had  another  treat.  We  went  to  hear  George 
[Wm.]  Curtis  lecture  on  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  or  the  Christian  Gen- 
tleman. .  .  .  The  lecture  was  splendid,  full  of  brave,  heroic  and 
inspiring  ideas  which  he  applied  finely  to  our  age  and  country. 

*  Probably  Stephen  K.  Foster. 


354  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xiv 

He  glorified  youth  and  enthusiasm,  as  the  great  achievers  of  all 
things  good. — It  tries  me  after  listening  to  such  speakers,  to  hear 
people  criticise  and  talk  coolly,  about  scholarship,  voice  and 
manner,  and  what  not,  as  if  the  great  thing  were  not  the  ability 
to  present  animating  and  lofty  ideas  and  principles.  It  was  good 
to  look  at  Mary  Johnson's  speaking  face,  and  see  that  she  felt 
with  me.  .  .  . 

PiTTSBTJRG,  Jan.  3,  1858.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  The  four  verses  of  Lowell  which  Joe  sent  me  are  the 
instinct  of  every  noble  New  Englander,  and  make  that  people 
such  remarkable  writers  and  speakers, — such  idealists — abstrac- 
tionists— reformers  and  fanatics,  as  the  world  calls  it.  Earnest- 
ness is  one  prime  characteristic  of  the  New  England  mind  and 
heart;  and  faith  in  the  future,  in  the  eternally  steadfast  and  vic- 
torious right  and  true,  is  its  basis — ^a  faith  which  this  world  can 
neither  give  nor  take  away.  .  .  . 

Pittsburg,  Jan.  4,  1858.    To  his  Wipe. 

...  I  send  you  a  line  to  mail  to  Maria  Child,  who  of  course 
wrote  "Maya  the  Princess,"  in  the  Atlantic  of  this  month.  I 
have  read  no  more  of  it.  Think  of  Wendell  Phillips  lecturing 
here  Friday  night,  and  I  knowing  nothing  of  it  until  just  this 
moment.  .  .  . 

Columbus,  Jan.  8,  1858.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  just  spent  an  hour  with  our  dear  friend  Lesquer- 
eux,  and  have  seen  his  wife. — She  is  a  noble  woman. — I  go  now 
to  spend  an  hour  with  Mather  by  appointment,  and  after  dinner 
will  spend  the  afternoon  in  Lesquereux's  cabinet.  ...  I  had  a 
public  discussion  on  slavery  in  the  car  with  a  renegade  Northerner, 
now  living  in  Kentucky,  and  for  a  wonder  reduced  him  to  silence. 
How  one's  soul  loathes  such  a  recreant!  .  .  .  How  inimitably 
funny  O.  W.  H.'s  table  talk  is  in  the  Atlantic!  .  .  . 

Ironton,  Jan.  16,  1858.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  think  you  need  not  be  uneasy  about  Mamie's  untruth- 
fulness. Her  cases  are  sporadic,  not  epidemic,  and  due  to  her 
imagination  as  much  as  anything.  She  is  not  a  literal  child,  you 
know.  Set  her  a  good  example  of  exactness  in  narrating,  as  well 
as  faithfulness  in  promising,  and  she  will  grow  into  truthfulness. 
Remember  also  that  fear  is  the  mother  of  falsehood;  and  a  timid 
child  cannot  be  an  altogether,  always  truthful  one.     A  paroxysm 


i8s8  PROFESSIONAL  LIFE  355 

of  fear,  which  you  may  not  see,  and  could  not  comprehend,  will 
breed  a  lie  instantly,  and  all  your  training  and  correction  before 
and  after  won't  be  of  any  avail.  Take  it  easy,  and  trust  to  nature, 
time  and  a  good  example.  .  .  . 

Hampden,  Sunday,  Jan.  23,  1858.    To  his  Wife. 

...  If  I  consulted  my  feelings,  I  would  not  attempt  to  write  to 
you,  for  it  must  be  in  a  bar-room.  .  .  .  This  part  of  Ohio  is  Vir- 
ginian, a  little  mixed  with  Pennsylvania  elements — not  of  a  supe- 
rior kind.  Houses  are  uncomfortable,  roads  vile,  people  rough 
but  good-natured,  beds  soft  and  short,  bread  hot  and  doughy, 
churches  few  and  intermittent.  On  arriving  at  Church  this 
morning,  I  was  informed  that  the  preacher's  wife  was  sick  and 
I  must  take  his  place;  so  I  preached  from  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  and  they  would  have  me  speak  to  them  again  this  even- 
ing. I  left  Portsmouth  for  Monroe  Furnace,  Thursday,  and 
spent  one  night  at  Monroe,  one  at  Washington,  one  at  Berlin 
and  the  last  here;  making  use  of  my  days  in  plumbing  the  depths 
of  clay  roads  up  to  my  horse's  belly,  in  visiting  the  furnaces 
which  lay  off  the  railroad.  ...  I  am  in  excellent  health  and  so 
occupied  with  my  work  that  I  seldom  think  of  home,  except 
when  nestled  in  bed  and  not  always  then.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  April  6,  1858.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Theodore  Parker. 

...  At  Blairsville  returning,  we  were  obliged  by  a  smash-up 
on  the  Central  line  to  walk  out  four  miles  to  the  Junction  Station, 
and  thereby  had  a  chance  to  see  a  fight  between  a  mob  of  negroes 
and  three  kidnappers.  In  the  Depot  were  concealed  thirty, 
and  in  the  barn  fifty  armed  men,  and  the  woods  were  full.  Three 
thousand  good  and  true  men  could  be  concentrated  in  thirty-si:S 
hours  at  any  point  in  Indiana  County — entre  nous.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XV 
Eagleswood.    Summer  of  1858 

In  May  of  1858  my  mother  took  her  children  to  Eagles- 
wood,  near  Perth  Amboy,  on  the  New  Jersey  coast,  where 
she  spent  the  summer,  and  where  my  father  from  time  to 
time  spent  a  few  days  with  them,  whenever  he  could  take  a 
short  hohday. 

Several  families  had  come  together  in  this  place  with 
some  plan,  I  believe,  of  forming  a  "  Community"  here. 
Mr.  Marcus  Spring  and  his  family  were  of  this  number, 
and  Mr.  Theodore  Weld  and  his  family.  The  latter  built 
up  a  fine  school,  which  was  notable  for  its  excellent  and 
original  methods  of  teaching.  The  following  letter  from 
my  mother  to  her  aunt,  Miss  Catherine  Robbins,  gives  some 
idea  of  the  place  and  its  work  and  society: — 

At  last  I  find  a  spare  hour  to  sit  down  and  talk  with  you,  and 
it  seems  a  great  luxury.  I  have  been  at  this  place  two  weeks 
yesterday.  It  has  rained  steadily  every  day  but  two,  since  I  came 
here,  but  to-day  the  sun  has  shone,  and  the  place  has  looked 
lovely.  I  have  already  got  into  the  life  of  the  place,  a  quiet  routine, 
with  just  that  amount  of  pleasurable  excitement  coming  from 
the  school  and  intercourse  with  young  people,  which  is  animat- 
ing and  healthful.  At  quarter  to  six  the  bell  rings  to  wake  us, 
and  at  half-past  we  breakfast,  five  tables  in  a  long  dining-room, 
the  scholars  headed  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weld,  Miss  Grimke  and 
Miss  Shepherd,  occupy  three  of  the  tables;  the  other  two  are 
occupied  by  the  permanent  and  transient  boarders.  The  fare 
is  of  the  simplest  and  most  healthful,  with  sufficient  variety;  the 
house  is  kept  by  a  good  New  England  family. 

At  twelve  we  both  go  to  the  gymnasium  when  the  bell  rings 
and  join  the  class  there.  I  go  through  all  the  drill  that  I  have 
strength  for,  and  Mamie  is  full  in  the  faith  that  she  does  also. 
At  any  rate  it  is  a  fine  entertainment  for  her.  At  half -past  twelve 
the  bell  rings  us  all  to  dinner.     At  two  Christine  takes  the  chil- 

356 


SUSAN  INCHES  LESLEY 
From  an  old  Daguerreotype 


185S  EAGLESWOOD  357 

dren  out  for  the  afternoon,  and  I  lie  down  till  four, — usually 
sleep  soundly.  At  four  I  join  Mrs.  Spring,  Mrs.  Brown,  and 
Miss  Shepherd  in  a  reading  class,  which  occupies  us  till  six,  the 
tea  hour.  We  are  now  reading  Mrs.  Child's  "Progress  of  Re- 
ligious Ideas."  .  .  . 

Saturday  nights  everybody  on  the  place,  except  the  servants, 
join  in  a  dance  at  the  School  Hall.  Tell  Chauncey  that  when 
Mr.  Lesley  came  last  Saturday,  he  could  not  believe  his  eyes 
to  see  me  dancing  with  old  Mr.  Weld,  till  the  gunpowder  ran 
out  of  the  heels  of  my  boots.  Last  Sunday  we  had  an  unusually 
pleasant  service  at  the  hall.  A  Mr.  Thom,  an  Orthodox  Clergy- 
man from  Cleveland,  Ohio,  preached  a  very  good  sermon.  Mr. 
Weld's  brother  spoke  very  finely,  and  Peter  gave  a  very  strong 
practical  turn  to  all  the  suggestions  that  had  been  made.  The 
scholars  always  sing  the  hymns  sweetly.  I  think  the  school 
is  the  only  one  I  ever  saw  that  entirely  meets  my  ideas,  and  Peter 
is  enchanted  with  it,  and  says  he  does  not  hesitate  to  pronounce 
it  the  first  in  the  country.  I  find  the  greatest  temptation  to  spend 
half  my  time  in  the  school,  as  many  of  the  ladies  do  here,  and  I 
have  to  restrain  myself  continually  by  thinking  of  my  health 
and  other  duties.  But  the  method  of  instruction  is  so  interest- 
ing and  so  clear,  and  Mr.  Weld  is  so  glad  to  have  every  one, 
old  and  young  take  advantage  of  it,  that  it  seems  to  me  a  real 
loss  to  spend  two  hours  on  the  bed  every  day  instead  of  there.  .  .  . 


Extracts  from  later  letters  without  date: — 

Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  This  morning  we  had  a  meeting,  and  Miss  Holley,  the 
Abolition  lecturer,  was  the  principal  speaker.  For  myself  I  can 
only  say  that  being  rooted  and  grounded  in  Anti-slavery  prin- 
ciples, I  don't  care  to  hear  much  more  discussion  of  them.  It  is 
stale  to  me.  .  .  . 

Sunday. 

.  .  .  We  had  a  very  interesting  meeting  this  morning.  Lucy 
Chase's  brother  Thomas,  from  Haverford,  was  here,  and  spoke 
on  Prayer.  Then  Mr.  Theodore  Weld  broke  out  in  a  flood  of 
eloquence,  such  as  I  never  heard  surpassed.  It  came  from  the 
depths  of  a  prayerful  soul,  a  soul  living  in  the  closest  communion 
with  God.  He  bowed  his  head  and  nearly  wept  when  he  closed. 
It  was  an  address  to  scholars,  which  each  one  of  them  must  have 


358  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xv 

felt.  After  dinner  I  walked  with  Miss  Shepherd.  She  told  me 
all  about  his  early  hfe,  how  narrowly  he  had  escaped  death  at 
the  hands  of  a  mob,  several  times  in  the  West,  when  he  com- 
menced his  Anti -slavery  career;  how  he  had  saved  the  lives  of 
several  persons  from  drowning  by  risking  his  own;  how  enthu- 
siastic he  had  been  in  his  friendships, — how  devoted  in  every 
relation  of  life.  You  should  have  seen  the  glow  on  her  pure, 
calm  face,  as  she  sat  under  a  tree  in  the  ravine,  telhng  me  all 
this.  She  says  that  he  loses  money  every  year  by  this  school, 
and  always  has;  that  as  long  as  he  can  afford  to  he  is  glad  to. 
Not  more  than  half  the  scholars  are  paying  scholars;  he  gets 
interested  in  them,  and  if  the  parents  are  poor,  keeps  them  for 
half-price,  or  nothing  at  all. — Oh,  I  must  tell  you  something 
good;  Mr.  Weld  and  I  are  both  descended  from  Anne  Hutchin- 
son straight,  therefore  we  are  cousins.  His  ancestors  have  been 
Orthodox  preachers  for  nine  successive  generations,  and  he  was 
the  first  to  break  the  line.  What  an  amount  of  conscience  and 
force  must  have  come  down  to  him!  ... 

To  which  my  father  makes  reply : — 

May  the  day  be  all  brightness  for  the  descendant  of  the 
Hutchinson  Martyr,  the  cousin  of  ten  generations  of  orthodoxy! 
It  seems  as  if  my  darling  had  kinship  with  the  whole  Church 
Universal.  What  it  is  to  be  born  an  angel!  But,  au  contraire, 
to  be  condemned  to  live  outside  the  walls  of  one's  paradise! 

.  .  .  Peter  Cooper  is  coming  down  to  spend  next  Sunday  at 
the  Springs.  .  .  .  Such  a  sermon  from  Theodore  Weld  and  such 
gentle,  true  words  from  Pliny  Chase.  Then  young  Louis  Weld, 
from  New  York,  Theodore's  nephew,  as  blue  Orthodox  as  indigo, 
preached  us  a  sermon  in  the  evening  full  of  fire  and  heavenly 
unction,  from  the  text,  "  I  am  the  true  vine,  and  my  Father  is  the 
husbandman."  His  illustrations  were  pecuHarly  fine  and  strik- 
ing, and  every  word  would  have  touched  me;  but  my  Unitarian 
ears  were  so  often  offended  by  his  insisting  that  those  who  did 
not  receive  Christ  as  equal  with  God,  rejected  him  utterly.  Com- 
ing out,  Theodore  Weld  said  to  me,  "A  very  fine  rider  on  a  very 
poor  horse."  .  .  . 

.  .  .  We  have  been  having  a  visit  from  Mrs.  Farnham,  Aunt 
Eliza's  old  friend,  who  has  lately  returned  from  California.  She 
is  lecturing  here  to  the  women,  on  "Woman,"  and  I  have  been 


1858  EAGLESWOOD  359 

to  two  of  these  meetings  in  Mrs.  Bimey's  parlor.  It  is  all  new 
to  mfe, — not  the  views,  all  of  them, — but  I  never  heard  the  sub- 
ject discussed  before.  She  does  not  assume  the  equality  of  the 
sexes,  but  considers  woman  both  physically  and  spiritually  to 
have  a  higher  being  than  man;  says  that  physically  she  has  one 
more  organ,  and  greater  complexity  of  structure,  and  is  more 
individualized  than  man,  etc.  How  I  wanted  you  here,  to  ask 
you  some  questions  as  to  facts!  She  has  spoken  remarkably 
well,  and  has  said  many  excellent  things  which  I  should  like 
to  tell  you,  if  I  had  time.  Unlike  most  women  talkers,  she  in- 
sists on  the  mistake  of  women  assuming  most  of  man's  duties, 
and  brought  many  facts  from  observation  and  history  to  show 
how  certain  was  the  deterioration  of  her  own  peculiar,  and  as 
she  considers,  higher  functions,  when  she  undertakes  to  com- 
pete with  man  in  the  heavy  labors  and  external  works  of  life, 
that  require  a  different  physical  constitution  and  greater  strength. 
All  that  she  said  on  the  subject  of  Gestation,  Pregnancy,  Chastity, 
etc.,  was  more  beautifully,  simply  and  purely  expressed  than  I 
ever  heard  any  one  do  it.  I  am  convinced  that  the  whole  sub- 
ject, treated  in  that  way,  would  be  elevated  to  the  serious  and 
religious  ground  it  ought  to  occupy.  ... 

...  He  [Charles  Weld]  is  high  up  for  free  discussion,  thinks 
it  isn't  free  enough  here.  Was  ever  such  a  medley  of  minds  as 
here?  .  .  . 

.  .  .  There  is  a  great  deal  to  interest  one  in  the  life  of  the 
place,  and  never  did  I  see  so  powerfully  in  exercise  the  influ- 
ence of  one  ruling  spirit.  Emerson  says,  "A  saint  should  be  as 
dear  as  the  apple  of  an  eye,"  and  so  is  Theodore  Weld  to  the 
hearts  of  all  who  know  him.  ...  As  for  Mr.  Spring,  as  Aunt 
EHza  used  to  say,  "There  isn't  but  a  little  of  the  salt  of  the  earth 
left  and  Marcus  is  a  part  of  it."  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Mary  Porter  .  .  .  came  down  here  last  Saturday  and 
stays  until  Thursday,  and  has  spent  her  whole  time  in  the  school. 
She  is  teaching  herself  in  Brooklyn,  and  says  she  has  received 
most  valuable  suggestions  from  Mr.  Weld's  method  of  instruc- 
tion, and  that  the  few  days  spent  here  have  been  as  happy  and 
refreshing  to  her  mind  as  anything  in  her  whole  life.  Teachers 
have  so  many  discouragements,  that  I  think  it  must  be  like  a 
draught  of  cold  water  to  the  thirsting  to  come  in  contact  with  so 
strong,  clear  and  genial  a  mind  and  heart  as  Theodore  Weld's.  .  .  . 


360  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xv 

...  I  have  commenced  reading  Livingstone's  "Africa,"  the  large 
edition,  and  find  it  very  interesting.  I  borrowed  it  at  the  Springs ! 
Mrs.  Palmer  talked  Spiritualism  to  me  last  evening,  and  I  felt  as 
if  I  had  lost  the  whole  day.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Don't  say  a  word  against  Eagleswood — I  adore  the  people 
here.     [This  feeling  became  somewhat  modified  later.] 

.  .  .  The  Springs  are  distressed  at  the  loss  of  a  Swedish  lady 
who  was  in  the  Austria,  and  on  her  way  to  spend  the  winter  with 
them  here.  If  she  liked  Eagleswood  froin  this  winter's  residence, 
Hans  Christian  Andersen  was  to  join  her  next  spring.  .  .  . 

This  summer  in  Eagleswood  was  always  remembered 
as  a  pleasant  episode,  and  several  of  the  friendships  made 
there  were  continued  throughout  life.  My  parents  never  re- 
turned to  the  place  again,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  years, 
I  believe,  most  of  the  members  of  this  rather  unique  society 
were  scattered,  and  Eagleswood  and  its  school  became  a 
thing  of  the  past.  Those,  however,  who  had  been  "of  it," 
or  whose  children  had  been  under  Mr.  Weld's  wise  care, 
never  lost  their  affection  for  the  place,  nor  their  love  and 
admiration  of  this  wise  and  good  man. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Ante-bellum  Times,     i 858-1861 

The  years  from  1858  to  1861  were  full  of  varied  occu- 
pation. Times  were  still  hard,  and  my  father's  letters 
mention  extra  ventures  in  the  way  of  lectures,  and  essays, 
to  aid  in  "keeping  the  pot  boiling." 

Meanwhile  my  mother  endeavored  to  fill  her  spare 
rooms  with  boarders,  and  we  had  several  interesting  per- 
sons with  us,  among  others  George  Fuller,  the  artist,  who, 
however,  spent  only  a  few  weeks  in  Philadelphia,  not  find- 
ing it  the  art  centre  he  desired.  Miss  Anne  Whitney,  the 
sculptor,  and  Mr.  Perry,  another  artist,  were  also  with 
us  for  some  months. 

The  pubHcation  of  the  "Iron  Manufacturers'  Guide" 
came  in  the  spring  of  1859. 

As  has  been  seen  in  some  previous  letters,  my  parents 
were  much  moved  by  the  Kansas  and  Nebraska  troubles, 
and  in  1859,  when  the  John  Brown  raid  occurred,  they 
were  deeply  affected  and  distressed.  The  letters  printed 
in  this  chapter,  telling  of  my  mother's  meeting  John  Brown's 
wife,  are  interesting  chiefly  as  indicating  one  phase  of  senti- 
ment in  Philadelphia.  The  tumultuous  condition  of  pubHc 
opinion  there,  divided  between  Northern  and  Southern 
sympathizers,  and  the  timidity  ruling  the  mass  of  the  popu- 
lation are  shown  in  these  letters. 

In  May,  i860,  Theodore  Parker  died.  My  mother's 
brother,  Joseph  Lyman,  had  gone  abroad  to  be  with  him, 
and  he  and  my  parents  felt  his  death  deeply.  My  uncle 
was  Mr.  Parker's  hterary  executor  or  editor,  I  beheve,*  and 
was  occupied  several  years  with  the  work  of  going  over  his 
letters  and  manuscripts. 

*  Susan  Lesley  to  her  brother  Joseph,  July  3,  i860:  "I  am  so  glad 
that  you  are  to  edit  Mr.  Parker's  papers."  Later  letters  speak  of  the  mat- 
ter as  uncertain. 

361 


362  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  csap.  xvi 

Philadelphia,  May  18,  1858.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wefe. 

.  .  .  Jackson  presses  me  to  give  out  a  prospectus  of  a  Pennsyl- 
vania Geology  for  schools.  .  .  .  The  Iron  Association  has  put  me 
into  correspondence  with  Wiley  &  Putnam  for  a  five  hundred 
page  book  on  Iron.     I  am  very  busy  therefore.  .  .  . 

June  i$th. 

.  .  .  Our  Board  agreed  that  I  should  contract  with  Wiley  Sz 
Halstead,  last  night.  We  had  a  splendid  sermon  from  the  Metho- 
dist blacksmith  preacher,  CoUyer,  with  whom  I  spent  the  p.m.  . . . 

June  16th. 

...  I  saw  Virginia  [Henderson]  this  morning,  for  she  left  her 
card  under  my  door  last  evening,  while  I  was  at  the  great  Tarifif 
meeting  (until  midnight)  to  say  that  the  Portsmouth  had  arrived. 
Andrew  [Henderson]  will  no  doubt  be  here  by  Saturday.  ...  I 
am  in  the  midst  of  an  immense  index  proof  of  6,000  names  and 
numbers.  ... 

June  ^oth. 

...  I  took  tea  with  Dr.  Elwyn  and  wife  and  daughter,  and 
talked  Pelasgic-Welsh  ethnology  with  John  Elwyn,  who  lives 
near  Le  Conte's  in  Spruce  St.,  and  is  an  extraordinary  Portsmouth, 
N.H.,  genius.  His  analytical  faculty  is  superb,  and  his  research 
indefatigable.  I  see  in  him  as  in  a  mirror  how  I  will  feel  about 
it  all  at  fifty-five,  unless  I  publish.  .  .  . 

July  9. 

...  I  slept  beautifully  after  overhauling  my  Roger  Bacon 
MS.  which  I  will  send  to  Edward  Hale,  for  the  Atlantic.  It  is 
rather  stiff,  but  I  cannot  rewrite  it,  and  it  is  rather  good  on  the 
whole — full  of  honest  stuff  put  up  in  sufficiently  good  order  to 
bear  criticism.  I  rather  like  it — and  your  doing  so  also  resolves 
me.  .  .  . 

COALMONT,  Aug.  8th. 

...  I  came  up  with  Old  Jake  Cresswell,  and  found  a  number 
of  friends  at  Huntingdon  and  here.  I  can't  help  getting  attached 
to  even  the  roughest  of  these  rowdy  fellows,  for  they  always  turn 
their  best  side  towards  one,  and  flatter  me  by  asking  and  taking 
my  advice.  It  is  divine  to  teach !  Wisdom  should  never  be  sold. 
It  is  so  costly,  it  should  always  be  bestowed. 

Aug.  12th. 

.  .  .  My  review  of  Owen's  Report  in  the  Franklin  Journal  is 
just  out  and  reads  right.  ... 


i8s8  ANTE-BELLUM  TIMES  363 

Aug.  14th. 
.  .  .  Dr.  Owen  is  with  us  and  I  cannot  leave.  .  .  . 

Aug.  16th. 

Yesterday  was  a  great  day.  I  cannot  trust  myself  to  write 
about  the  wonder  of  the  age,  the  spirit  that  is  flashing  to  and  fro 
along  the  bed  of  the  ocean.  There  was  another  wonder  I  went 
to  see  yesterday,  and  grieved  that  you  were  absent.  Mr.  Stewart's 
aloe — Agave  americana — is  in  glorious  blossom.  The  whole 
stalk  has  risen  in  six  weeks — what  an  effort  of  concentrated  life! 
It  reminds  me  of  the  moth's  million  of  eggs  followed  by  death. 
Stewart  can  trace  this  plant  back  ninety-five  years,  during  which 
time  it  has  showed  no  trace  of  fruitfulness.  [There  is  a  sketch 
to  illustrate  this.] 

A  third  miracle.  Mr.  Rehn  has  discovered  and  is  using  a 
process  for  lithographing  photographs.  I  am  to  see  his  fossils 
to-day.  This  is  an  era  in  the  history  of  illustrations,  as  wonder- 
ful and  decisive  as  the  telegraph  connection  between  Europe  and 
America. 

Perry  says  a  fourth  great  event  has  occurred — Lambden  and 
he  have  bought  a  new  great  camera  for  $120.  .  ,  . 

Library,  Sep.  21st. 

...  I  am  working  as  hard  as  I  can  stand  work,  and  feel  very 
well.  But  I  get  along  very  slowly.  My  third  article  came  out 
in  the  Tribune  yesterday,  and  was  too  rambling.  .  .  . 

Sep.  2^th. 

.  .  .  Went  to  see  the  Ravels;  the  first  quarter  of  a  dollar  I 
have  dared  spend  in  pleasure  for  a  month.  I  am  "  forging  ahead," 
— as  the  sailors  say  of  a  ship  in  a  storm  plunging  forward  against 
her  anchors, — with  my  book. 

...  I  felt  yesterday  as  if  the  book  would  kill  me,  but  I  feel 
better  to-day;  in  fact  quite  well.  My  maps  will  be  beautifully 
done  by  Rehn.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  OcL  10,  1858.     Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  He  [Peter]  is  driven  as  if  with  forty  whips  all  the  time,  so 
do  not  think  it  is  from  any  forgetfulness,  that  he  seems  so  unmind- 
ful of  old  friends.  The  last  year  has  been  really  a  hard  scrabble 
with  him  to  provide  the  bare  necessities  of  life  and  the  coming 
winter  promises  the  same.     Perhaps  you  sometimes  see  scientific 


364  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

articles  in  the  Tribune. — You  need  not  tell,  but  perhaps  you  may 
enjoy  them  the  better  to  know  they  are  his. 

Philadelphia,  Nov.  20,  1858.     Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  think  I  am  growing  dead  to  the  world,  fast.  Not  in 
any  angelic  sense.  But  the  future  may  be  more  productive  of 
flowers  and  honey.  You  embody  to  me  all  New  England  and 
the  Past,  and  I  love  you  very  tenderly,  but  have  no  way  to  show 
it  because  you  want  nothing  which  I  could  provide.  .  .  .  My 
forced  absence  from  Boston  this  summer  has  been  a  sorrow  to 
me,  for  I  live  the  year  round  in  the  hope  of  a  week  there.  My 
heart  is  always  there,  but  my  work  is  here,  and  if  death  does  not 
play  me  one  of  his  awful  tricks,  I  shall  forget  my  disappoint- 
ment this  season  in  a  happy  visit  next  year.  .  .  . 

December,  1858  ( ?).     SuSAN  I.  Lesley 
to  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  Peter  had  a  warning  that  he  must  resign  his  Librarian- 
ship  [A.  P.  S.],  which  was  a  great  disappointment  to  him.  He  how- 
ever did  it,  it  was  in  fact  the  only  right  thing  to  do.  For  one 
week  he  had  not  the  slightest  idea  what  we  should  do,  but  some- 
how we  neither  of  us  felt  discouraged.  To  our  great  surprise,  yes- 
terday he  received  word  that  the  two  parties  at  the  Library  had 
had  a  meeting  and  come  to  a  spirit  of  wonderful  unanimity  and 
harmony.  Judge  King,  a  member  of  the  opposite  party,  had  said 
in  the  meeting  that  it  was  a  shame  to  part  with  a  man  who  in  one 
year  had  done  so  much  to  make  the  Society  efficient;  and  finally 
on  all  sides  it  was  agreed  to  recall  him  and  give  him  a  thousand 
dollars.  You  may  imagine  how  glad  we  are.  .  .  .  We  like  Mr. 
Fuller.* 


*  George  Fuller.  Born  at  Deerfield,  Mass.,  1822:  died  at  Boston, 
March  21,  1884.  An  American  figure  and  portrait  painter.  In  1842  he 
studied  with  the  sculptor  Henry  K.  Brown  at  Albany,  after  which  he  studied 
painting  in  Boston,  New  York,  London,  and  on  the  Continent.  His  first 
public  success  was  attained  in  1857,  when  he  was  elected  associate  of  the 
Academy  (New  York).  From  1860-79  ^e  devoted  himself  to  farming  at 
Deerfield,  but  in  1876  he  exhibited  some  fifteen  pictures  in  Boston,  which 
gained  him  fame  and  patronage.  In  1879  he  exhibited  at  the  Academy 
(New  York)  "The  Romany  Girl"  and  "And  She  was  a  Witch";  in  1880, 
"The  Quadroon"  and  a  boy's  portrait;  in  1881,  "Maidenhood"  and 
"Winifred  Dysart";  "Loretti"  and  "Priscilla  Fauntleroy"  (1882),  "Fagot 
Gatherers"  (1883),  "Fedalma"  (1884),  etc.     {Century  Cyclopedia.) 


1858  ANTE-BELLUM   TIMES  365 

Dec.  25,  1858.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  Fuller  is  evidently  a  very  superior  man,  one  who  has 
had  many  deep  experiences,  is  full  of  taste,  feeling  and  a  quiet 
repose.  He  seems  a  strong  man  and  wholly  free  from  sentimen- 
tality, at  the  same  time  that  his  sensibilities  are  all  alive.  .  .  . 

Last  week  we  had  a  splendid  lecture  from  Mr.  Emerson  on 
the  "Law  of  Success."  I  think  I  never  enjoyed  him  more.  He 
always  renews  one's  faith  in  the  higher  principles,  and  makes 
one  feel  that  the  only  success  that  is  of  real  importance  in  this 
life  is  on  the  spiritual  or  intellectual  plane.  .  .  . 

Jan.  23,  1859.    Same  to  Same. 

. .  .  Mr.  Furness  has  been  quite  ill  for  a  few  days  and  a  Mr. 
CoUyer,  a  Methodist  blacksmith  who  lives  about  ten  miles  out  in 
the  country,  preached  for  him.  It  is  very  long  since  I  have  listened 
to  such  effective  and  impressive  sermons,  his  style  perfectly  orig- 
inal, his  thoughts  also.  It  seems  that  Mrs.  Morison  discov- 
ered him  last  summer  and  introduced  him  to  Mr.  Furness.  He 
and  his  wife  are  English,  Yorkshire  people,  living  in  the  most 
humble  way  you  can  conceive,  with  their  blacksmith  shop  close 
to  the  little  house,  a  family  of  children,  and  a  very  scanty  supply 
for  them.  He  was  turned  out  of  the  Methodist  connection,  on 
account  of  his  liberal  views.  ...  He  never  had  any  education 
except  such  as  he  gives  himself,  but  is  evidently  a  man  of  much 
reading  and  thought,  and  with  a  self-possession,  and  dignity  of 
manner,  beauty  and  fluency  of  language,  that  would  make  him 
at  home  in  any  society.  I  had  a  great  desire  to  have  him  come 
to  tea,  but  Mrs.  Morison  had  invited  several  gentlemen  to  meet 
him  at  her  house.  His  face  is  a  very  noble  one,  with  the  sweetest 
and  most  winning  expression  mingled  with  unusual  force  and 
vigor.  I  think  it  cannot  be  long  before  he  is  found  out  and  sought 
after,  it  is  so  rare  nowadays  to  find  a  man  of  so  much  vigor.  In 
some  things  he  reminded  me  of  both  Theodore  Parker  and 
Beecher,  especially  in  the  aptness  and  force  of  his  illustrations, 
but  he  is  much  more  gentle  than  either  of  them.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Feh.  13,  1859,  "Our  Wedding  Day."    Susan  I. 
Lesley  to  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

"Forbes  girls  and  Miss  Hallowell"  to  dine. 

Mr.  Fuller  about  to  leave  for  N.Y.,  having  had  nothing  to 
do  in  his  two  months  in  Philadelphia.  Ben  gone  to  Concord  to 
help  Mr.  Sanborn  in  his  school. 


366  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

It  is  ten  years  to-day  since  we  were  married,  perhaps  you 
have  remembered  the  date.  You  are  so  associated  with  all  those 
early  times  that  we  cannot  recall  them  without  you.  Looking 
back,  I  cannot  but  recall  the  years  with  unspeakable  gratitude, 
and  when  I  think  of  all  that  Heaven  has  done  for  me,  I  feel  that 
you  were  the  chief  agent  in  my  restored  health,  and  my  abihty 
to  enjoy  so  much  of  hfe,  even  before  health  came.  "When  I  looked 
forward  ten  years  ago,  I  expected  many  troubles  that  have  never 
yet  come  to  me,  for  I  did  not  enter  the  condition  without  counting 
the  cost.  I  looked  for  great  trials  and  great  compensations. 
The  trials  have  been  small,  and  the  compensations  abounding. 
God  grant  we  may  grow  in  grace,  it  is  all  I  ask  for.  Last  Sunday 
Mr.  CoUyer,  the  blacksmith  and  preacher,  spent  the  day  and 
night  with  us.  His  conversation  and  presence  was  even  finer 
and  more  elevating  than  his  sermons.  Truly  it  was  an  angel's 
visit  to  me.  He  refreshed  my  faith  in  Providence,  and  in  eternal 
principles,  and  made  me  feel  satisfied  in  resting  on  them.  He 
has  received  a  call  from  Chicago  to  take  a  ministry  at  large. 

.  .  .  Peter's  Iron  book  magnified  in  size  after  he  got  into  it. 
He  is  still  delving  away  with  many  hindrances  on  all  sides.  He 
is  constantly  receiving  proof,  and  never  has  a  moment's  leisure 
for  any  other  thought. 

...  It  is  more  than  a  year  since  he  has  pursued  this  incessant 
brain  labor,  without  change  of  any  kind.  I  cannot  but  see 
however  with  some  satisfaction,  how  much  better  he  bears  the 
strain  than  he  would  have  done  ten  years  ago.  He  is  certainly 
stronger  and  less  nervous.  In  two  weeks  more  the  book  will 
be  complete.  .  .  . 

Feb.  26,  1859  (?).     Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her 
BROTHER  Joseph  Lyman. 

...  I  am  having  a  delightful  visit  from  Mary  Lyman  and 
Fanny  Brewer,  both  lovely  girls,  and  pleased  with  everybody 
and  thing.  Thursday  I  took  them  to  Cheltenham  to  spend  the 
day  with  Lucretia  Mott,  a  really  white  day  in  their  Calendar, 
Mary  says.  The  old  lady  was  heavenly  that  day,  a;s  indeed  she 
always  is,  when  I  see  her,  full  of  conversation  on  the  highest 
themes,  sufficiently  opposed,  though  very  gently  and  respectfully, 
by  her  four  married  daughters,  to  make  her  earnest  and  animated, 
and  as  thoughtful  and  attentive  to  every  little  want  of  those  about 
her,  as  if  she  never  did  anything  in  her  life  but  keep  house  grace- 
fully.    She  is  nearly  seventy,  and  as  full  of  fire  as  ever.  .  .  . 


i8S9  ANTE-BELLUM  TIMES  367 

March  2,  1859.     Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her 
BROTHER  Joseph  Lyman. 

I  have  had  two  artists,  Mr.  Fuller  and  Mr.  Perry,  boarding 
with  us.  But  Mr.  Fuller  has  just  gone  to  New  York,  because 
he  can  find  more  to  do  there  than  here.  He  is  perhaps  the  best 
portrait  painter  in  the  United  States,  really  a  man  of  genius,  but 
so  modest  a  man  that  he  will  never  push  himself  at  all.  He  is 
an  intimate  friend  of  the  Sculptor  Brown,*  at  Newburg,  and 
I  used  to  go  to  school  with  him  at  Deerfield  when  a  child. 

Philadelphia,  May  15,  1859,    Same  to  Same. 

...  A  few  Sundays  ago,  Mr.  Lesley  and  I  went  to  hear  Lu- 
cretia  Mott  at  Quaker  Meeting,  the  Sunday  after  our  slave  case 
here.  I  really  wish  you  could  have  heard  her,  she  was  more  elo- 
quent than  I  ever  imagined,  well  as  I  know  her.  Ben  and  I  are 
going  out  to  take  tea  with  her  this  week.  She  preached  at  a 
colored  church,  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  and  the  people  were 
all  much  excited  by  the  events  of  the  week  before.  They  shouted 
and  cried,  "Come  it,  Lord!  That's  you,  Lord!"  and  similar 
things  at  every  pause.  Lucre tia  was  much  amused,  never  having 
been  at  their  meetings  before. 

I  wish  you  a  prosperous  time  and  safe  return,  dear  Joseph. 
Remember  us  to  Mr.  Parker  and  say  that  we  hail  with  joy  every 
news  of  his  improvement.!  .  .  . 

*  Henry  K.  Brown,  born  at  Leyden,  Mass.,  February  24,  1814,  died 
at  Newburg,  July  10,  1886.  He  began  life  as  a  portrait  painter,  studying 
under  Chester  Harding.  When  he  had  attained  an  acknowledged  position 
as  a  sculptor,  living  then  at  Albany,  he  went  abroad  in  1842,  living  in  Rome 
most  of  the  time  for  the  following  four  years.  His  principal  works  are: 
equestrian  statues  of  General  Winfield  Scott  and  General  Nathanael 
Greene  in  Washington,  D.C.;  statues  of  General  Kearney,  General  Nathan- 
ael Greene,  General  George  Clinton,  and  Richard  Stockton  in  the  National 
Gallery  at  Capitol  in  Washington.  He  made  two  statues  of  Lincoln,  one 
for  New  York  City  and  one  for  Brooklyn.  If  he  had  finished  his  work 
for  the  South  Carolina  Capitol,  it  would  have  been  one  of  his  most  important 
works.  {Note  written  by  Mr.  Brown's  nephew,  the  sculptor  Henry  K. 
Bush-Brown.) 

t  Joseph  Lyman  was  going  abroad  to  join  Theodore  Parker,  and  was 
with  hirn,  I  believe,  until  his  death. 

Theodore  Parker:  Life  and  Correspondence.  By  J.  Weiss.  New  York, 
1864. 

Theodore  Parker:  A  Biography.  By  O.  B.  Frothingham.  G.  P.  Put- 
nam's Sons,  1886. 

His  complete  works  were  edited  by  F.  P.  Cobbeo     (12  vols.,  1863-65.) 


368  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

Philadelphia,  May  20,  1859.    Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

I  suppose  you  have  received  Peter's  book  and  see  the  result 
of  his  hard  labors  the  last  year.  You  may  be  sorry  for  his  ex- 
posure of  Mr.  Rogers  in  the  Preface,  but  it  was  truly  done  under 
conviction,  and  severe  as  it  sounds,  poor  Lesquereux  attests  in 
his  letter  of  yesterday  that  it  is  less  than  true.  Still  I  feel  that 
the  consequences  of  telling  the  truth  in  such  a  case  are  often  very 
trying,  and  though  Peter  looked  them  all  in  the  face  beforehand, 
I  feel  them  for  him.  Good  people  may  and  do  often  act  most  un- 
wisely, but  if  their  aim  and  motive  is  not  unworthy,  it  will  not  cause 
them  any  real  loss.  I  felt  very  uncertain  about  the  wisdom  and 
expediency  of  Peter's  Preface,  but  never  any  doubt  about  its 
being  done  from  the  conviction  of  months,  and  without  passion. 

New  York,  June  12,  1859  [from  John  Hopper's  house]. 
Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  . .  Went  to  hear  [Octavius  B.]  Frothingham  preach,  to  an  ex- 
cellent-looking congregation,  gathered  in  a  pleasant  upper  cham- 
ber, and  I  never  enjoyed  a  service  more.  Then  we  came  home  to 
a  dinner  of  Christian  Socialists,  where  John  [Hopper]  cut  up  like 
the  old  Harry.  Mr.  Perry  was  there  by  the  way,  and  William 
Thayer,  Carter  and  James  Lyman.  Do  you  want  to  hear  one  of 
William's  dry  witticisms?  John  observed  to  Carter,  "What  a 
signal  mercy  it  was.  Carter,  that  your  pantaloons  were  such  a 
capital  fit  for  Hurlbut,  really  providential !"  "It  is  a  divinity 
that  shapes  our  ends,"  murmured  William  in  inimitable  tones.  .  .  . 

In  May,  the  "Iron  book"  being  finished,  my  father  was 
again  in  the  "field,"  writing  from  Beaver  IMeadows  first: — 

Beaver  Meadows,  June  12,  1859.    Peter  Lesley  to 
Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  find  the  waters  of  the  old  love  of  preaching  rise  as  high 
in  the  bore-hole  as  ever  before  the  engine  stopped  and  the  pan  fires 
went  out.  But  the  once  rare  sentiment  of  unworthiness  is  now  a 
constant  check.  There  are  so  many  good  men  and  women  about 
— all  of  them  preaching  well.  The  preaching  of  the  lips  and  brain 
is  so  imperfect,  so  unreasonable,  so  inadequate,  so  erroneous; 
and  the  preaching  of  the  good  life  is  so  perfect  and  prompt.  As 
we  gain  experience,  we  become  better  satisfied  with  the  common 
preaching  of  common  preachers,  I  think;  appreciating  the  meaning 


i8S9  ANTE-BELLUM  TIMES  369 

rather  than  the  expression,  the  spirit  rather  than  the  letter,  of 
what  is  said.  Surely,  if  the  common  theology  were  so  mischievous, 
the  whole  population  would  rebel. 

You  do  not  criticise  my  book.  I  have  suffered  a  great  deal 
silently,  about  that  awful  business  of  the  preface.  It  is  no  joke  to 
be  compelled  to  witness  for  the  truth — especially  under  circum- 
stances which  cast  an  imputation  of  selfishness  upon  one.  Every 
dissenting  opinion  also  is  a  stab  in  the  dark,  which  one  cannot 
see  very  well  how  to  parry.  Nor  can  a  perfect  conviction  of 
doing  or  having  done  right  be  won  in  practical  matters  of  this  sort, 
such  as  we  win  in  theoretical  and  high  religious  matters,  which  so 
capture  the  conscience  as  to  enforce  the  complete  acquiescence  of 
the  judgment.  There  is  so  much  unknown,  behind  what  is 
known,  and  the  effect  to  be  produced  depends  so  much  upon 
accident,  that  one  must  take  up  one's  line  of  conduct  upon  a 
general  view  of  the  whole  case,  rather  than  upon  any  well-argued- 
out  mathematical  rule  or  scale  of  principle.  I  am  too  old  to 
lament,  and  say,  alas !  why  are  we  not  guided  ?  or  why  is  there  not 
an  infallible  rule  ?  But  although  one  must  go  ahead  and  do  one's 
best  (I  Kke  the  vulgar  word,  one's  prettiest),  yet  where  old  friend- 
ships are  to  be  trodden  over,  like  dying  soldiers  in  a  charge,  and 
every  advance  made  and  every  duty  taken  is  with  strain  and  bruise, 
the  hope  will  spring  up  of  some  good  time  ahead  where  such  ter- 
rible prices  will  not  be  asked  for  the  food  and  clothing  of  the  soul. 

I  am  absorbed  in  a  discussion  of  the  structure  of  these  basins, 
on  which  will  depend  some  expensive  operations  hereafter,  if  we 
succeed  in  opening  the  coal  bed  we  seek  for.  I  am  very  tired  of 
this  responsibihty.  Oh  for  a  lodge  in  some  nice  Paradise!  We 
must  nevertheless  work  while  it  is  to-day,  for  we  know  not  when 
the  night  cometh.  No  need  to  say  as  much  to  you.  For  you 
have  spent  a  life  of  self-sacrifice,  and  usefulness  and  will  get  your 
amaranthus  crown  in  better  condition  and  wear  it  much  more 
gracefully  than  the  rest  of  us. 

What  an  iron  crown  that  old  diadem  of  Italy  has  been  to 
every  emperor  who  has  meddled  with  it!*    Have  you  any  faith 

*  "On  the  4th  of  June  the  French  fought  the  battle  of  Magenta,  which 
ended  ...  in  the  defeat  of  the  Austrians." 

"  On  the  24th  of  June  they  [the  AUied  troops]  encountered  the  Aus- 
trian army  at  Solferino  and  San  Martino.  French,  Piedmontese  and  Aus- 
trians fought  with  courage  and  determination.  Nor  was  it  until  after  ten 
or  eleven  hours  of  hard  fighting  that  the  Allies  forced  their  enemy  to 
retreat."  .... 

(From  page  249  of  "Italy  from  1815  to  1878.  By  John  Webb  Probyn. 
Cassell  &  Co.,  Limited:  London,  Paris,  and  New  York.") 


370  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

in  the  Liberator?  Do  you  read  all  the  news?  I  have  been  in- 
tensely interested  in  every  scrap  of  the  Herald  and  Tribune  I 
could  find.  How  wonderful  that  in  every  hamlet  of  the  United 
States,  on  every  twig  of  every  bough  of  the  great  Mississippi 
water  tree,  the  policy,  plans  and  progress  of  the  conflicting  hosts 
and  generals  are  studied  with  as  much  interest  and  comprehended 
with  more  judgment  than  in  the  cities  of  Europe  itself!  Our 
national  position  is  a  great  anomaly.  We  swing  aloft,  as  it  were 
in  a  balloon  over  the  earth — over  it  and  in  it,  but  not  of  it, — as  if 
we  lived  in  the  moon,  and  had  long  telescopes  and  quick  ears 
enough  to  see  and  hear  all  that  passed,  with  no  power  to  inter- 
meddle. We  have  our  own  interests,  but  they  seem  to  be  all 
municipal  and  personal. 

June  20. 

. . .  Such  are  our  humble  pleasures  here.  Lying  on  my  back  in 
the  sunshade  of  a  tall  pine,  at  noon,  I  have  fancies  of  books  to  be 
written,  when  we  are  rich,  and  I  invent  titles,  such  as:  "Laissez 
Faire; — or  Nature  Does  All";  "Chicques  Rock, — or  the  Young 
Geologist";  "John  Smith,  Esq., — the  Ex  Saint  and  Martyr," — • 
for  them.  Themes  as  full  of  truths  and  recollections  as  eggs  are 
full  of  meat,  could  one  but  do  justice  to  them.  And  who  is  wise 
enough  to  refrain  from  attempting  what  he  cannot  be  expected 
to  do  well,  when  the  very  attempt  is  a  pleasure  in  itself?  The 
multitude  of  books  ought  to  deter  us.  But  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
the  abundance  of  grain  does  not  deter  the  farmer  from  sowing, 
for  he  knows  that  every  year  must  have  a  new  crop  for  all  the 
new  little  mouths  that  have  just  opened,  and  for  the  old  ones  too. 
People  complain  that  books  are  compilations,  and  contain  all 
the  old  thoughts  of  the  dead.  So  do  our  granaries.  The  world 
must  be  content  to  see  very  few  new  species — to  say  nothing  of 
genera — of  things  created  in  any  one  age.  To  discover  the  new, 
we  go  backward  through  the  past  ages  rather  than  forward 
through  the  future.  It  is  possible  to  think  new  thoughts,  but 
they  will  not  be  generally  acceptable  to  the  public,  nor  long  agree- 
able to  the  thinker,  even.  They  are  like  monstrous  products  of 
the  orchard,  garden  or  forest, — curious,  but  neither  lasting  nor 
useful.  They  are  out  of  harmony  with  the  whole,  and  form  a 
discord  with  that  which  is  the  common  belief.  When  new  thoughts 
are  to  become  common  property,  they  are  produced  like  a  new 
species  of  plant  or  animal,  all  over  the  region  it  is  to  inhabit  at 
once;  the  world  suddenly  blooms  with  the  novelty.  So  a  Revolu- 
tion or  a  Reformation  introduces  a  vocabulary;  inaugurates  a  fresh 


i859  ANTE-BELLUM  TIMES  371 

encyclopsedia  of  thought.  But  for  us  individuals,  we  must  be  con- 
tent with  talking  on  as  if  we  chatted  at  home,  and  repeat  the 
commandments  and  traditions  of  our  fathers. 

So  I  shall  write  my  book  some  day — and  leave  out  perhaps 
all  the  Arkism. 

Poor  Arkism!    Where  is  my  child?    Lost — ^perhaps  forever. 

Beaver  Meadows,  June  26,  1859.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  listened  two  hours  this  afternoon  to  a  sermon 
on  Lazarus  and  Dives,  and  after  service  read  Emerson's 
essay  on  Friendship  with  a  new  unction.  Yet — .  Can  any  one 
rise  to  such  a  height!  Sometimes  one  thinks  it  possible,  as  one 
thinks  a  balloon  trip  to  Europe;  but  whose  nerves  are  strong 
enough  for  the  actual  trial?  I  feel  as  if  Emerson's  philosophy 
here  is  the  echo  of  human  necessity  merely  We  have  books  of 
all  kinds  here,  and  are  beginning  to  feel  quite  contented.  But 
the  tone  of  life  is  very  low — on  this  mountain  top.  A  poor  Circus 
Company  passed  this  v/ay  to-day;  a  file  of  vans,  filled  with  seedy, 
unprincipled  vagabonds,  to  look  at  whom  made  your  heart  sick. 
I  long  to  join  you  among  our  friends,  where  goodness  and  truth, 
wit  and  wisdom,  frankness  and  politeness  temper  all  the  air. 
I  rejoice  that  you  can  make  these  annual  pilgrimages  to  a  shrine 
where  your  native  virtues  receive  a  fresh  baptism  and  benedic- 
tion, and  your  memory  is  re-enforced  for  all  that  is  worthy  to  be 
transmitted  to  our  offspring.  May  I  enjoy  some  effluence  from 
your  journey  when  we  meet  again.  How  ardently  I  burn  to  be 
transplanted  like  a  withering  tree  to  some  warm,  rich,  well  wat- 
ered soil,  where  I  could  grow  in  beauty  and  decay  with  honor, 
like  one  of  those  splendid  elms  we  know  of!  But  why  should 
the  hemlock  of  the  mountain  side,  or  the  hemlock  of  the  swamp, 
wish  itself  other  than  it  is  made?  Yet  is  not  this  the  distinction 
between  man  and  the  lower  creatures,  and  has  not  the  will  and 
power  to  roam  been  given  to  him  therefore?  .  .  . 

Beaver  Meadows,  Carbon  Co.,  June  27,  1859. 
Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  am  reading  Guizot's  life  of  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Chev- 
reuse,  the  beautiful,  briUiant,  audacious  and  in  many  respects 
noble  lady,  friend  of  Anne,  wife  of  Louis  XIII.  and  enemy  of 
Richelieu.  Her  character  of  an  intriguante  is  brilliantly  sketched. 
She  charms  one  with  the  picture  of  perfect  fidelity  to  her  friend- 
ships.    She  dares  all  for  those  she  loves,  and  she  suffers  every- 


372  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvl 

thing  with  them.  In  a  weak  or  silly  woman,  this  is  a  redeem- 
ing charm.  How  glorious  a  halo  it  sheds  round  a  strong,  wise 
beauty,  who  looked  on  men  to  vanquish  whom  she  chose  in  a 
moment ! 

Those  old  songs  or  hymns  of  the  ages  are  so  stirring  that  I 
must  find  and  copy  for  you  the  original  Latin.  No  English  trans- 
lation will  endure  reading  beside  the  Latin  original.  What  a 
charm  lies  in  a  foreign  sound  to  a  familiar  word, — in  a  foreign 
word  for  a  familiar  thing! 

Old  Biebelheimer,  eighty-nine  years  old,  has  just  appeared 
upon  our  tavern  porch.  A  celebrity  of  the  first  settlements, 
a  hunter  prince,  one  who  has  killed  his  thousands  of  deer  and 
many  a  bear  and  panther,  when  the  Indians  possessed  these 
woods ;  and  many  an  Indian  too,  for  he  hated  them  with  a  deadly 
hatred,  and  killed  one  whenever  he  could  shoot  him  quietly  in 
the  thickets  of  the  woods.  His  hair  is  white,  but  his  limbs  are 
strong,  and  he  walked  to-day  from  Berwick,  twenty-one  miles 
over  two  intervening  mountains.  Twenty  years  ago  he  went 
to  the  West,  and  two  years  ago  came  back,  to  the  astonishment 
of  his  children  who  all  supposed  him  dead. 

Such  are  the  possibilities  of  this  fine  human  frame.  We 
wonder  at  a  tortoise,  or  an  elephant,  a  hundred  years  old,  but 
why,  when  man  can  live  as  long  ?    But  who  would  wish  to  ?  .  .  . 

Beaver  Meadows,  Jiily  i,  1859.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  My  levelling  is  advancing,  and  to-day  Ben  and  I  have 
been  putting  all  our  work  down  on  paper.  We  commenced  the 
third  augur  hole  yesterday,  to  discover  coal.  All  that  has  yet 
been  done  is  preliminary,  and  very  thorough.  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
on  some  great  national  survey,  everything  is  on  so  generous  a 
basis,  and  the  ideal  is  followed  so  openly.  But  here  in  the  woods 
— on  a  mountain  top — dining  by  springs,  and  listening  all  day  to 
the  song  of  birds,  the  hum  of  insects,  and  the  shouts  of  a  target 
bearer,  what  can  I  have  to  interest  you  ?  Not  an  idea  in  which 
you  can  sympathize.  No  time  remains  for  books,  and  no  mind 
can  keep  its  brightness,  that  is  not  polished  by  intercourse  with 
a  various  society.  It  is  with  souls  as  with  ox  chains  and  com- 
pass chains,  only  by  steadily  dragging  are  they  kept  polished. 

Philadelphia,  Jtily  3,  1859.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

All  yesterday  in  the  cars  I  read  ''Tom  Brown's  School  Days" 
and  entered  heart  and  soul  into  the  author's  feehngs  and  views. 
It  is  a  noble  little  book.    The  influence  of  little  Arthur  on  Tom 


i859  ANTE-BELLUM  TIMES  373 

and  East  is  splendidly  developed,  and  the  scene  of  the  bedroom 
and  Arthur's  mother  and  Tom  is  touching  enough.  His  views 
of  EngKsh  fighting  I  like,  they  are  philosophical  and  Christian, 
too,  which  I  can't  say  (at  once)  of  any  other  manner  of  treating 
the  difficult  subject  of  non-resistance  I  have  heard.  Some  other 
things  in  the  book  would  make  a  profound  impression,  if  any 
book  could  nowadays,  but  they  are  too  numerous  to  stay  long  by 
one  and  our  memories  have  all  the  non-elasticity  taken  out  of  them 
by  the  newspaper  habits  of  the  day.  One  idea  chases  another 
like  sheep  over  a  stile. 

Beaver  Meadows,  July  10,  1859.     To  his  Wefe. 

...  I  have  just  laid  down  the  first  numbers  of  a  serial  his- 
tory of  the  Lehigh  Valley,  where  I  find  two  very  nice  photographs 
of  two  of  the  principal  furnaces,  and  I  mean  to  get  the  plates 
from  the  publishers,  for  the  use  of  the  "Guide."  Did  I  tell  you 
Wiley  wrote  me  that  he  sees  his  way  clear  to  print  soon  a  new 
edition?  In  this  history  of  the  Lehigh  Valley,  and  others  like 
it,  are  superabundant  materials  for  an  admirable  romance,  such 
as  I  have  long  had  in  mind  to  write;  mingling  Indian,  Quaker, 
Moravian,  Scotch  Presbyterian,  Huguenot  and  hunter  life,  with 
geological  adventure.  There  is  the  great  Purchase  Walk,  which 
originated  the  early  Indian  Wars.  Then  the  great  immigration 
of  the  Palatinates  and  Redemptioners,  then  the  deluge  of  the 
Irish  which  brought  on  the  second  Indian  Wars.  The  Moravian 
Settlement,  and  the  War  of  Independence  would  be  episodes  on 
a  large  scale;  and  scenes  of  a  wedding,  of  the  Hexenkopfy  the 
murder  of  the  Englishwoman  flirt  by  the  German  mothers,  the 
sale  of  his  master  by  the  last  Redemptioner  of  the  gang,  etc., 
would  be  smaller  episodes.  The  vast  correspondence  of  the 
Penns  and  Co.  abroad,  with  the  resident  politicians,  would  fur- 
nish tres  recherche  matter.  How  beautifully  a  year  might  be  spent 
at  such  a  romance,  which  might  blend  the  sweetest  love  scenes, 
and  the  wildest  adventure,  with  the  most  enduring  and  varied 
religious  enthusiasm!  In  fact  this  almost  unbroken  ground  will 
one  day  be  taken  possession  of  by  a  great  Pennsylvania  Romancer 
who  will  build  an  enduring  reputation  for  himself  out  of  materials 
which  everybody  now  passes  unheedingly. 

But  how  needful  that  a  romancer,  a  magician,  a  soother  and 
searcher  of  the  popular  heart,  the  modern  bard  and  sage,  should 
be  inspired  nobly  himself!  Inspired  with  genuine  and  not  per- 
functory or  professional  sentiments!  Inspired  with  an  intense 
hatred  of  wrong  and  love  of  right,  with  a  profound  faith  in  God 


374  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

and  all  his  creatures,  with  a  prophetic  hope  and  affection  for  a 
good  time  coming,  worthy  of  his  self-martyrdom  over  the  table. 
How  he  should  believe  in  the  reality  of  ideas,  and  the  power  of 
words,  and  the  susceptibility  to  improvement  in  the  populace! 
How  he  should  read  into  [sic]  the  history  of  his  forefathers,  hke 
a  confident  gold  digger  sure  of  a  fortune  in  due  time,  and  sure  of 
the  solid  value  of  what  is  there  hidden!  No  milk-and-water 
aesthetic,  eclectic,  sceptic,  can  write  a  true  romance.  No  man 
who  has  not  fought,  and  loved,  and  believed,  and  confided,  and 
discovered,  and  suffered,  and  conquered,  can  claim  to  be  loved 
and  followed  by  the  people,  as  every  true  romancer  is.  Our 
artificial  education  spoils  us  for  this  noble  work.  The  Peg  Wof- 
fingtons  and  Tom  Browns  and  Uncle  Toms  come  slantwise  across 
a  corner  of  the  school  close  only.  They  are  an ti -scholastic,  and 
written  by  half-educated  rebels  to  the  artificial  refinements  and 
developments  of  modern  learning  and  science.  See  how  a  Hugh 
Miller  breaks  the  necks  of  the  savans  with  his  mechanics'  sledge, 
in  winning  his  way  to  the  centres  of  London  and  Liverpool  and 
the  central  heart  of  every  man.  Real,  early,  honest  bigotry, 
superstition,  rudeness, — the  virtues  of  the  flesh-and-bone  part  of 
the  soul — are  the  wheels  of  such  a  career.  Man  hates  ghosts, 
and  loves  roast  beef.  There  is  no  use  mincing  matters  when  any- 
thing great  is  to  be  done.  Every  great  author  must  take  off  his 
stock,  and  roll  up  his  sleeves,  whether  beaux  laugh  or  not.  .  .  . 

Beaver  Meadows,  July  24,  1859.    To  his  Wipe. 

.  .  .  Have  you  read  Gerrit  Smith's  discourse  on  Natural  Re- 
ligion, published  in  yesterday's  Tribune?  Did  you  know  he  was 
so  fine  a  writer  ?  His  sentences  are  pure,  sweet,  elegant  EngHsh, 
pithy,  without  the  slightest  effort  at  point,  and  full  of  sense.  His 
whole  code  of  thought  and  morality  seems  quite  perfect.  His 
notions  of  marriage  took  my  heart  by  storm.  I  have  never  had 
my  feehngs  and  views  so  truly  echoed  and  so  elevated  by  any  one 
except  by  your  own  dear  self.  .  .  .  His  way  of  putting  the  Bible, 
Hell,  Slavery,  and  other  great  topics,  into  discussion,  is  original 
and  very  fine. 

,  .  .  Yesterday  I  toiled  hour  after  hour  through  the  long-cut 
lines,  setting,  levelling,  reading,  calculating,  sketching,  over  and 
over  in  an  endless  series,  along  the  ridge.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Sept.  2,  1859.    To  his  Wife. 

I  didn't  receive  your  letter  until  yesterday  and  was  so  im- 
prisoned by  the  son  of  Gov.  Clarke — ^Lewis  and  Clarke  of  Rocky 


i859  ANTE-BELLUM  TIMES  .  375 

Mt.  memory — all  day  with  the  old  MSS.  deposited  here  [in  the 
A.  P.  S.  Library  perhaps?]  which  he  wishes  to  sort  and  complete 
and  perhaps  pubHsh,  that  I  didn't  get  a  mouthful  to  eat  from 
7  A.M.  till  6  P.M.  and  therefore  couldn't  send  you  any  money. 

I  long  earnestly  to  preach  in  New  England.  But  I  comfort 
myself  with  the  reflection  that  your  health  is  evidently  better  here 
in  Philadelphia  and  that  the  daughters'  health  might  perhaps  be 
injuriously  affected  there.  Still,  I  would  jump  for  joy  at  a  fairly 
involuntary  "Call."  It  seems  to  me  strange  that  I  cannot  settle 
to  one  vocation  like  other  men.  Surely  it  would  not  be  wrong 
to  try.  I  have  begun  Buckle's  History,  and  it  is  all  and  more  than 
all  I  have  ever  heard  it  called  in  the  way  of  good  writing  and  think- 
ing. .  .  .  The  Owens  came  through  here,  but  I  did  not  see  them. 

Mr.  Clarke  told  me  yesterday  how  his  father's  fine  map  of 
the  western  part  of  the  continent  had  been  loaned  to  Nicollet  for 
several  months  and  so  came  into  Fremont's  hands  when  Fremont 
was  Nicollet's  young  amanuensis  and  draughtsman.  The  great 
discoveries  of  Fremont  are  all  down  in  Clarke's  map!  Clarke 
{fls)  calls  Fremont  a  scamp. 

Sept.  4,  1859.    To  HIS  Wife. 

It  is  the  Sabbath,  dear  Susie;  how  we  love  the  day  of  rest! 
I  trust  you  have  enjoyed  it  well.  Mr.  Furness  opened  his  church 
to-day  with  a  magnificent  speech  to  the  people,  upon  the  sub- 
ordination of  the  forms  to  the  spirit  and  work  of  religion,  and 
wound  up  with  a  noble  protest  against  the  tendency  in  the  Uni- 
tarian Church  to  an  unwritten  creed  and  liturgical  forms.  Our 
high  mass,  said  he,  is  a  cup  of  water  extended  to  a  panting  fugi- 
tive, in  the  name  of  hberty  and  love.  Lee  grasped  my  hand  going 
out,  saying,  "that  is  eternal  truth  we  have  had  to-day."  Even 
Mr.  Winsor  was  entirely  pleased.  James  walked  down  to  church 
with  me,  and  back  part  way,  and  evidently  felt  proud  and  satis- 
fied with  his  brother's  views  and  eloquence.  But  I  told  him 
that  I  could  support  liturgies  with  good  arguments — the  living 
always  need  the  dead  to  grow  on — ^vines  on  walls,  trees  on  mould, 
corals  on  coral  dust,  the  freedom  of  a  people  on  the  remembrance 
of  its  hampered  past,  the  liberalism  of  age  on  the  habitual  senti- 
ments acquired  in  infancy  and  youth.  I  am  not  afraid  of  forms 
killing  the  spirit, — now  that  we  see  the  spirit  has  fought  forms 
through  all  ages,  and  come  off  more  than  conqueror.  I,  for  one, 
need  forms  and  rituals  to  arrest  my  treacherous  memory,  my 
wandering  eye,  as  well  as  to  arouse  my  sluggish  imagination  and 
quicken  my  heart. 


376  LIFE  AND  I.ETTERS  chap,  xvi 

Philadelphia,  Sept.  6,  1859.    To  his  Wife. 

,  .  .  Dr.  Jackson  appeared  last  night  and  will  spend  a  few 
days  with  me.  It  is  a  godsend  to  have  some  one  in  the  house, 
for  I  am  or  have  been  lonelier  than  words  can  convey  an  idea  of, 
and  therefore  very  unhappy,  shame  be  it  to  say.  I  went  last 
evening  in  desperation  to  see  Booth  in  "Richard  III.,"  and  came 
home  after  the  third  act.  What  a  wonderful  genius,  that  inspired 
those  immortal  plays!  The  "my  Lord,"  and  "your  Majesty," 
and  all  the  attendant  royal  sentiments,  come  as  natural  to  us  as 
if  we  were  not  blue  republicans.  There  is  a  practical  spirit 
airiong  the  boys  however,  which  greets  anything  really  and  es- 
sentially ridiculous  with  a  genuine  roar  of  derision.  .  .  . 

Sept.  16,  1859.    To  HIS  Wife. 

.  .  .  Last  evening  I  entertained  Brinton  Cox  and  Mr.  [Charles 
G.]  Leland  to  tea,  and  afterwards  we  had  a  tall  talk  on  Arkism. 
Leland  is  the  only  other  Arkite  in  America,  except  Dr.  Johalel 
Abbott  of  New  York,  whose  book  on  Mythology  in  three  volumes 
is  nearly  ready  for  press.  ... 

Philadelphia,  Oct.  2,  1859.    Peter  Lesley  to 
Mrs.  Lydia  Maria  Child. 

Your  commission  has  waited  patiently  a  long,  long  time  for 
my  slow  motions  and  perhaps  you  have  entirely  forgotten  it. 

I  send  you  by  to-morrow's  mail  rolled  up  (safely,  I  trust)  the 
little  picture  you  wished  to  have,  and  a  little  beauty  it  is.  I 
wish  I  could  go  on  east  myself  to  take  it  to  you  and  have  a  day's 
chat  with  you  before  the  fine  fall  weather  is  lost  in  the  snows  and 
gray  skies  of  winter  and  the  chilling  blasts  of  your  earlier  spring. 
Can't  you  break  away  from  home  awhile  and  cheer  us  here  with 
a  visit?  Think  of  it  and  try.  We  were  married  again  the  first 
of  October — as  usual,  and  a  happy  home  I  have  had  of  it  ever 
since,  and  I  hope  she  also.  After  a  summer  of  sickness  I  enjoy 
an  autumn  of  buoyant  health  and  am  full  of  work  and  plans  of 
work.  I  wish  you  would  help  me  to  edit  a  half-scientific,  half- 
literary  weekly.  I  think  very  seriously  of  commencing  the  pub- 
lication of  one,  devoted  to  geology.  It  seems  to  be  wanted  and 
must  soon  be  had;  the  space  is  vacant  and  I  am  the  man  for  it; 
it  only  requires  energy  to  start  it,  to  make  it  go.  I  should  like 
to  devote  the  residue  of  my  mortal  career  to  establish  such  a  mag- 
azine of  science  here  as  should  last  after  I  had  gone,  a  centre  of 
work  and  thought  for  future  generations.  Resigning  modesty, 
I  think  I  could  gradually  increase  it,  by  a  healthy  growth,  care- 


i859  ANTE-BELLUM  TIMES  377 

fully  nourishing  it  only  with  the  best  food  and  not  pushing  it  at 
its  work  beyond  its  strength.  I  look  upon  Dwight's  Journal  of 
Music  as  a  model.     If  you  see  him,  tell  him  so. 

Baby  is  a  jewel  of  the  first  water — a  ruby  of  a  baby,  good  as 
a  cherub  and  as  bright  as  a  flame  of  ficre.  Our  darling  Mary 
has  not  made  her  appearance  yet,  but  we  hope  to  have  her  in  our 
arms  in  a  few  days. 

What  a  sad  affair  this  of  Harper's  Ferry  is!  What  a  mad 
scheme  and  yet  how  characteristically  heroic  and  martyr-like! 
I  am  glad  to  learn  that  Cook's  capture  has  put  that  part  of  Penn- 
sylvania into  a  ferment  and  meets  with  general  execration.  Had 
he  taken  the  North  Mountain  side  of  the  Valley,  he  would  have 
escaped  easily.  I  can't  say  poor  Brown — for  his  name  at  all 
events  is  safe  for  immortality  and  if  any  event  of  the  last  twenty 
years  will  have  produced  its  effect  his  death  will  accomplish 
much  for  liberty.  Yet  I  cannot  but  hope  that  the  Virginians  will 
be  wise  enough  to  let  him  live. 

Give  David  my  best  love,  and  Susie's,  who  often  speaks  of 
him,  and  you.  She  was  delighted,  and  so  was  I  with  a  peep  at 
Rosa  [Hopper]  in  New  York  the  other  day.  I  have  been  so 
busy  in  the  mountains  this  summer  that  I  have  scarcely  seen 
my  friends,  at  all,  an}^where. 

Breakfast  is  ready  and  you  know  how  unappeasable  the 
human  appetite  is.  The  most  monotonous  of  all  functions,  its 
calls  are  the  least  and  last  to  be  neglected.  Adieu  therefore, 
may  your  breakfasts  never  be  fewer  nor  reduced  to  pork  chops. 

I  remain  ever  faithful,  Peter. 

Philadelphia,  Nov.  27,  1859.     Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her 
AtnsTT  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  can't  tell  you  how  distressed  Peter  and  I  have  been 
with  this  dreadful  Harper's  Ferry  affair,  but  you  have  felt  the 
same.  It  is  rare  to  disapprove  so  entirely  of  a  man's  deed,  and 
yet  have  such  entire  sympathy  with  his  motives  and  character. 
Truly  it  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  witnessed  anything  like 
the  heroic  exaltation  of  John  Brown's  purpose.  Have  you  read 
all  of  his  letters  published  in  the  Tribune  ?  Are  they  not  sublime  ? 
Tell  Mary  Walker  that  last  Sunday  William  Still  *  came  round, 
and  told  us  that  Mrs.  Brown  was  staying  at  his  house,  and  he 

*  An  educated  negro,  who  was  later  the  editor  of  "The  Underground 
Railroad,"  a  volume  which  recorded  the  history  and  escapes  of  the  fugitive 
slaves  who  passed  through  the  hands  of  that  association.  Mr.  Still  was, 
I  believe,  the  secretary  of  the  Underground  Railroad. 


37B  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

wished  we  would  go  and  see  her.  Peter  and  I  were  just  leaving 
the  house,  with  little  Mary,  for  a  walk,  so  we  went  at  once.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  poor  woman's  face,  it  has  haunted  me  ever 
since. — She  looked  stunned  with  grief.  She  spoke  very  little, 
said  it  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to  her  not  to  go  to  her  husband, 
but  she  thought  he  was  right  about  it,  perhaps  we  would  like 
to  see  his  letter  about  it.  So  she  took  it  from  her  pocket  and  I 
read  it  first,  and  then  Peter.  It  was  a  noble,  manly,  self-sus- 
tained letter,  full  of  feeling,  but  more  of  high  reUgious  exalta- 
tion. He  begged  her  and  the  children  never  to  feel  disgraced 
by  the  manner  of  his  death,  to  remember  the  ignominious  method 
by  which  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  and  many  of  the  early  Chris- 
tians perished.  He  spoke  of  his  own  soul  as  being  calm,  nay, 
even  joyful.  To  his  little  daughter,  Mary's  age,  he  sent  the  quo- 
tation of  a  little  couplet  I  wish  I  could  remember.  The  first 
line  was, 

"Count  that  day  lost,  whose  low-descending  sun,"  the  idea 
of  the  second  is,  "Bears  not  the  record  of  some  deed  of  mercy 
done,"  but  those  are  not  the  exact  words.  I  can  give  you  but  a 
faint  idea  of  the  letter.  Every  letter  he  has  written  to  his  wife  has 
breathed  the  same  quiet,  heavenly,  disinterested  spirit.  The 
friends  here  feel  a  growing  veneration  for  her,  and  the  little  she 
tells  them  at  intervals  of  his  life  and  character  deepens  the  impres- 
sion. She  is  staying  now,  between  the  McKims  and  Lucretia 
Mott,  both  of  whom  were  quite  determined  not  to  identify  them- 
selves in  any  way  with  John  Brown,  so  much  so,  that  they  de- 
chned  to  go  and  see  her,  when  she  first  came. — But  their  feelings 
for  the  man,  overcame  their  non-resistance  enough  to  make  them 
feel  deeply  in  this  particular  case.  They  are  now  only  anxious 
to  minister  to  the  poor  soul's  comfort  so  far  as  any  human  sym- 
pathy can. — She  stays  until  after  the  execution,  because  she  can 
hear  from  him  oftener  here  than  at  a  greater  distance.  She 
is  usually  very  quiet  and  patient,  and  seldom  manifests  visible 
emotion,  but  Mr.  McKim  said  that  when  he  was  reading  to  her 
the  other  day  John  Brown's  letter  to  his  old  schoolmaster,  Mr. 
Vaill,  she  was  quiet  till  he  came  to  that  allusion  to  their  two 
sons  who  fell,  and  then  she  broke  down.  She  said  that  although 
their  father  never  urged  them  to  go  with  him,  or  said  a  word 
to  induce  them  to  join  so  dangerous  an  enterprise,  yet  they  were 
in  such  entire  sympathy  with  him,  they  would  go.  And  yet  she 
said  when  they  bade  her  farewell,  it  was  as  if  they  went  to  cer- 
tain death.  She  heard  their  sobs  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  after 
they  left  her,  and  she  could  never  forget  the  morning.  .  .  . 


1859  ANTE-BELLUM   TIMES  379 

She  is  an  immensely  large,  strong-looking  woman,  much  the 
build  of  Mary  Cashman  three  years  ago,  with  a  good  face  and 
expression,  but  the  saddest  you  ever  saw.  I  have  carefully  kept 
from  Mamy  the  coming  event  that  hangs  over  the  poor  woman, 
for  she  was  greatly  impressed  by  her.  Thanksgiving  Day,  Mr. 
Fumess  preached  a  very  powerful  sermon,  which  is  to  be  printed 
in  the  Standard,  and  I  will  send  it  to  you.  Mrs.  Brown  was 
present,  but  he  did  not  know  it.  Coming  out  of  church,  Mamy 
and  I  saw  her  lingering  till  the  congregation  had  passed  out,  that 
she  might  escape  notice.  Her  dress  is  that  of  a  very  poor  woman. 
She  said,  "Your  minister's  remarks  are  very  consoling  to  me." 
Then  she  lifted  Mamy  up  and  kissed  her,  and  burst  into  tears. 

We  are  going  to-morrow  evening  to  hear  Wendell  Phillips 
lecture  upon  Toussaint  L'Ouverture.  Many  ignorant  Phila- 
delphians  don't  know  who  he  was,  and  are  going  to  hear  the  lecture, 
without  the  faintest  idea.  An  editor  came  to  Mr.  Fumess  yes- 
terday, and  said  "who  is  this  'Toosaint  Lee  Overture'?  Hadn't 
you  better  write  a  little  notice  of  him,  so  people  will  know  what 
the  lecture  is  to  be  about?"  "By  no  means,"  said  Mr.  Furness, 
"they  will  find  out  when  they  get  there."  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Dec.  2,  1859  [Day  of  John  Brown's  Martyrdom]. 
Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  brother  Joseph  Lyman. 

I  believe  I  will  close  this  eventful  day  in  our  Country's  his- 
tory by  writing  you  a  few  lines,  although  it  is  ten  o'clock  and 
I  am  tired. — I  rose  early  this  morning,  to  attend  to  my  children 
and  household  matters,  that  I  might  do  my  day's  work  at  the 
Library  (which  I  let  nothing  interfere  with)  before  the  hour  of 
noon,  when  I  went  to  the  sympathy  meeting  at  National  Hall, 
where  Lucretia  Mott,  and  Robert  Purvis,  and  Dr.  Furness,  and 
others,  talked  and  prayed.  The  meeting  was  at  National 
Hall,  and  we  hoped  it  would  be  a  solemn  one.  But  a  parcel  of 
Virginia  Medical  Students  contrived  to  disturb  and  annoy  all 
the  speakers,  in  spite  of  a  large  and  eflQcient  poHce  force.  You 
may  see  an  account  of  the  meeting.  I  sat  in  a  seat  with  four  or 
five  excellent -looking  colored  women,  who  seemed  very  much 
moved  at  the  idea  of  John  Brown's  suffering  for  their  race,  as  they 
said.  Coming  out,  I  said  to  one,  "We  should  have  had  a  good 
meeting  if  it  had  not  been  for  those  young  men."  "  Oh,  never 
mind,Marm,"  said  she,  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "Let  them  have 
their  fun  to-day,  for  they're  only  here  for  the  winter,  them  Vir- 
ginny  students;  but  we'se  in  a  free  state,  all  the  year  round."  .  .  . 
I  wrote  to  Mary  Walker  this  afternoon,  and  have  spent  this  even- 


380  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

ing  with  Mr.  Sumner,  who  says  he  knows  nothing  about  John 
Brown,  and  evidently  has  not  got  into  the  feehng  about  him  at  all. 
This  is  quite  natural,  when  one  thinks  that  he  has  but  just  re- 
turned; but  you  can't  think  how  hard  it  was  for  me  to  sit  and 
hear  him  talk  about  Tennyson  and  the  Brownings,  and  all  sorts 
of  foreign  people  and  things,  when  I  have  scarcely  been  able 
to  sleep  or  eat  this  last  week,  for  thinking  of  this  Harper's  Ferry 
matter.  I  know  that  my  feehng  about  the  matter  has  been 
much  increased  by  seeing  Mrs.  Brown  twice,  and  by  her  showing 
me  letters  from  her  husband,  far  more  beautiful  than  any  you 
see  in  print,  and  by  hearing  from  Lucretia  Mott,  with  whom  she 
has  been  staying,  so  much  about  the  family.  I  thought  I  would 
mention  to  you,  although  you  may  know  it,  that  Mrs.  Brown  will 
pass  through  this  city  at  noon  to-morrow,  and  from  here  James 
Mott,  the  husband  of  Lucretia,  will  accompany  her  to  Boston, 
with  the  remains  of  her  husband.  I  do  hope  that  there  will  be 
a  spontaneous  demonstration  there,  and  real  honor  paid  to  his 
remains.  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  send  me  any  paper  that 
contains  a  full  account  ?  It  cannot  be  that  Boston  will  be  so  cold 
as  Philadelphia. — Here  we  are  accustomed  to  people  being  still 
in  the  dark  ages, — surely  there  will  be  some  heartfelt  sympathy 
there.  How  Mr.  Parker  must  regret  his  absence  from  the  coun- 
try at  this  crisis,  and  yet  how  well  it  is !  ...  It  would  nearly  kill 
him  to  go  through  such  excitement.  Dr.  Furness  is  like  a  person 
recovering  from  severe  illness. 

P.S. — I  had  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Child  last  week,  and  a  very 
interesting  one.  In  it,  she  said  she  should  not  write  the  life  of 
John  Brown  (although  she  wished  much  to  do  it),  because  Red- 
path  was  doing  it.  I  see  in  yesterday's  Tribune  that  she  is  doing 
it,  but  think  that  may  be  a  mistake.  Much  as  I  am  attached 
to  her,  and  interesting  as  I  know  she  would  make  such  a  biog- 
raphy, I  really  would  rather  it  were  Mrs.  Stowe  who  did  it.  I 
think  she  would  understand  and  appreciate  the  style  of  his  relig- 
ious character  far  better.  Was  not  Maria's  last  letter  to  Gov- 
ernor Wise  a  stunner  ?  * 

Whoever  writes  his  life  should  say  very  little  about  him — his 
letters  will  speak  for  themselves. 

*  See  page  107  of  "Letters  of  Lydia  Maria  Child,"  Houghton,  Mifflin 
&L  Co.,  Boston,  1883,  "for  Mrs.  Child's  noble  reply  to  Governor  Wise  of 
Virginia.     The  whole  correspondence  is  included  in  pages  103  to  120." 

Wise's  "End  of  an  Era,"  published  within  a  few  years,  gives  the  South- 
em  view  of  the  John  Brown  episode. 


i859  ANTE-BELLUM  TIMES  381 

Philadelphia,  December,  1859.     Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

I  had  a  little  evening  gathering  a  week  ago  which  was  remark- 
ably pleasant.  I  wished  you  had  been  here.  Mary  Thayer, 
and  her  cousins  Mrs.  Jackson  and  Mrs.  Reed,  came  to  tea,  and 
in  the  evening  the  Havens,  and  Furnesses,  and  Mrs.  Palmer 
and  the  Wrights  and  Mr.  Gangouly  the  Brahmin,  who  has  em- 
braced Unitarian  Christianity,  and  about  whom  you  have  prob- 
ably heard  in  Boston.*  He  is  young,  only  twenty-three,  and  is 
really  an  interesting  man.  When  one  thinks  that  he  has  Hterally 
given  up  father  and  mother,  brothers  and  sisters  and  caste,  for 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven's  sake,  it  seems  quite  a  different  thing 
from  our  own  Christianity,  which  we  have  breathed  in  from  birth. 
Peter  had  a  good  deal  of  talk  with  him,  and  found  that  some  of 
his  old  Arkite  conjectures  connected  with  the  Hindu  faith  were 
really  facts.  We  heard  him  preach  on  Sunday,  and  even  Mamy 
enjoyed  listening  very  much.  I  was  glad  to  know  just  how  the 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity  would  strike  a  Hindu  mind,  and  found 
that  it  seemed  to  him  exactly  like  his  old  worship  of  Brahma, 
Vishnu  and  Siva. — ^He  said,  I  like  better  to  think  "God  is  my 
Father,  Christ  is  my  Master;  and  as  for  Holy  Ghost,  I  don't 
think  much  of  him."  Tuesday  evening  we  went  to  hear  him 
lecture,  and  it  was  very  pleasant  to  hear  his  account  of  Hindu 
Social  Life, — or  rather,  very  sad. 

We  get  on  nicely  with  our  Library  work,  and  Peter  is  much 
pleased  with  his  two  assistants.  Martha  intended  to  go  home 
about  this  time,  but  I  hope  she  will  stay  on  indefinitely,  for  she 
would  be  an  immense  loss  every  way. 

Since  I  wrote  to  you  last,  there  have  been  other  scenes  enacted 
in  the  terrible  tragedy  at  Harper's  Ferry,  f — I  think  I  have  suf- 
fered even  more  at  the  thought  of  Cook's  and  Coppic's  death 
than  I  did  at  John  Brown's. — They  were  both  so  young,  and  had 
made  such  efforts  for  life,  and  they  were  not  sustained,  as  he  was, 
by  the  thought  that  they  were  dying  to  seal  their  devotion  to  a 
great  principle.  Oh,  what  a  thrill  of  dehght  I  should  have  felt, 
had  they  escaped  the  night  before  the  execution!  Did  you  read 
McKim's  account  of  the  journey  to  North  Elba,  and  the  Old 
Man's  funeral  ?    Mrs.  Palmer  and  Fanny  knew  Coppic  very  well, 

*  I  believe  this  Gangouly  turned  out  later  to  be  not  so  fine  a  character  as 
his  friends  had  supposed. 

t  John  Brown  raid,  "Abraham  Lincoln,  by  Nicolay  and  Hay,"  vol.  ii. 
chap.  xi. 


382  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

and  have  felt  dreadfully  about  his  fate.  They  say  he  was  a  lovely 
fellow,  and  I  am  sure  his  letter  to  Mrs.  Brown  was  an  excellent  one. 
It  seems  as  if  you  could  hardly  realize  in  New  England  the  fear- 
ful excitement  that  exists  here.  I  went  to  George  [William]  Cur- 
tis's  lecture  on  Thursday  evening,  a  lecture  advertised  three  months 
ago,  as  the  last  of  a  course;  and  I  never  dreamed  of  there  being 
any  trouble,  although  the  subject  was  Slavery.  The  audience 
was  a  small  one,  and  the  lecture  a  most  moderate  Republican  state- 
ment. And  yet  after  I  got  seated  with  Joe  Lesley,  who  escorted 
me,  we  were  astonished  to  see  four  or  five  policemen  on  every  seat 
in  the  hall.  Directly  after,  a  band  of  fifty  policemen  marched 
through  the  aisles,  in  single  file,  and  we  knew  that  trouble  was 
expected.  Before  the  lecture  commenced,  I  was  surprised  to 
see  Peter,  whom  I  had  left  at  home  not  meaning  to  come,  seated 
not  far  from  us.  It  seemed  that  he  had  learned  from  the  Fur- 
nesses,  where  Curtis  was  staying,  that  the  Mayor  had  written 
to  Curtis  warning  him  that  the  Virginia  Students  intended  to 
break  up  the  meeting,  but  if  he  chose  to  deliver  the  lecture,  he 
would  sustain  him  by  an  efl&cient  police. — ^Well,  there  were  six 
hundred  and  fifty  policemen  in  that  building,  and  more  outside, 
and  we  should  certainly  have  had  great  trouble,  if  the  Mayor  had 
not  been  so  efficient.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  hissing  and 
screaming,  six  or  eight  young  men  carried  out  by  the  police, 
and  windows  broken,  and  vitriol  and  stones  thrown  in  by  out- 
siders— but  nothing  worse.  One  young  girl  had  her  face  badly 
burned,  and  her  clothes  ruined  by  the  vitriol,  but  thank  God 
no  lives  were  lost.  In  the  mean  time  there  were  4,000  disorderly 
people  outside,  speechifying  and  cheering,  and  urging  each  other 
to  enter  and  break  up  the  meeting;  but  with  an  armed  police, 
they  made  very  Httle  headway,  except  in  noise.  Is  it  not  dread- 
ful to  think  of  such  a  community  set  on  by  a  few  hundred  Vir- 
ginia Medical  students,  miserable  rowdies,  who  walked  the 
streets  the  day  of  John  Brown's  execution,  telling  how  many 
"niggers"  they  owned,  and  wearing  red  ribbons?  The  Profes- 
sors locked  them  up  as  soon  as  they  found  it  out,  but  it  does  not 
seem  to  have  done  them  much  good. — I  wish  the  city  were  well 
rid  of  them.  They  succeeded  last  week  in  driving  the  Anti- 
slavery  fair  out  of  Concert  Hall.  But  Mary  Grew  and  the 
rest,  whom  Dr.  Furness  calls  the  "  Irrepressible  Women,"  were  not 
to  be  put  down.  They  moved  their  things  to  a  smaller  and  more 
inconvenient  place  and  kept  on.  Ah  well!  I  trust  that  better 
days  are  dawning,  but  this  Southern  spirit  will  be  long  in  chang- 
ing, I  fear,  .  .  . 


i86o  ANTE-BELLUM   TIMES  383 

Philadelphia,  Feb.  26,  i860.     Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  was  very  much  touched  with  Lucretia  Mott's  thoughtful- 
ness,  so  different  (as  indeed  she  always  is)  from  most  distinguished 
women.  I  mentioned  to  Mrs.  Hopper  that  I  was  going  out  to 
see  her  mother,  and  would  take  my  young  ladies  with  me  for 
a  call,  which  one  is  always  safe  in  doing,  as  she  is  so  very  cordial 
to  strangers.  The  next  day,  the  girls  who  had  never  been  to 
a  Quaker  meeting,  went  to  the  Cherry  St.  meeting.  It  was  Wash- 
ington's birthday,  and  great  was  their  luck,  for  Mrs.  Mott  was 
there,  and  from  Mary's  description,  she  must  have  spoken  with 
unwonted  fire  and  enthusiasm.  I  was  at  the  Library.  After 
the  girls  got  home,  Mary  said  the  door  bell  rang,  and  she  heard 
a  sweet  voice  say,  "  Are  Susan  Lesley  and  her  nieces  within  ?" 
and  Mrs.  Mott  came  in,  greeted  them  both  most  cordially,  and 
said  she  came  to  invite  them  and  me  to  spend  the  next  day  with 
her.  So  the  next  day  I  left  my  Library  work  for  the  first  time, 
took  both  my  little  girls  with  me  and  Mary  and  Fanny  and  left 
here  at  nine  o'clock  for  a  good  day.  Mr.  Mott  met  us  with  his 
wagon  at  the  York  road  station,  and  we  had  a  most  successful 
day.  The  day  was  beautiful,  and  Mamy  and  Meggy  romped 
and  played  with  the  Httle  Cavenders  and  Lords  on  the  wide 
piazzas,  all  day  long. — Mrs.  Davis  and  Mrs.  Lord  live  with  their 
mother,  and  Mrs.  Cavender  lives  near,  and  was  spending  the  day 
there  to  meet  us.  Mrs.  Earle,  and  Mrs.  Pugh,  and  Mrs.  Wm. 
Furness,  Jr.,  were  also  there,  and  really  it  was  a  white  day  in  our 
Calendar. — Mrs.  Mott  was  unusually  animated  and  took  the 
greatest  pains  to  entertain  and  instruct  the  young  people. — 
She  brought  out  fine  old  letters  for  them  to  read,  grew  serious, 
earnest  and  pathetic,  over  the  great  events  and  duties  of  our 
times,  took  up  the  theme  of  her  sermon  the  day  before  and  en- 
larged upon  it  fully:  the  idea  which  she  is  full  of  now,  and  which 
I  think  she  maintains  with  most  forcible  arguments,  namely, 
that  no  good  can  come  from  evil,  that  a  corrupt  tree  cannot  bring 
forth  good  fruit,  etc.  This  train  of  thought  had  been  suggested 
to  her  by  the  fact,  that  so  many  Abolitionists  seem  really  almost 
to  rejoice  in  the  defeats  and  wrong-doing  of  their  opponents, 
as  in  some  way  doing  good  to  their  cause.  She  thinks  this  a 
very  pernicious  and  dangerous  doctrine  to  hold,  and  says  the 
conviction  grows  upon  her  every  year,  and  she  wishes  all  young 
people  to  lay  it  to  heart  and  examine  the  facts  by  the  light  of  con- 
science.— She  went  back  over  the  history  of  the  Anti-slavery 
cause,  told  how  first  one  friend  and  then  another  had  said,  "Don't 


384  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

deplore  the  burning  of  Pennsylvania  Hall,  it  all  works  well  for 
us;  don't  regret  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  it  wakes  up  the  people," 
and  so  on. — "Alas!  they  forget,"  she  said,  "the  train  of  miseries 
that  must  follow  every  evil  act,  the  increased  number  of  obstacles 
to  be  overcome."  That  there  is  good  enough  in  the  world  and 
in  society  to  conquer  these  evils,  she  firmly  hopes,  but  cannot 
bear  the  idea  of  trusting  in  good  coming  out  of  evil.  This  brought 
on  an  animated  discussion  on  the  old  and  never-to-be-settled 
question,  the  necessity  of  evil,  in  which  all  the  daughters  opposed 
her,  but  most  respectfully  and  pleasantly.  Our  conversation 
was  greatly  enhvened  by  Mrs.  Earle's  racy  wit,  and  indeed  all 
the  party  were  mutually  agreeable.  I  thought,  should  I  never 
see  the  heavenly  old  lady  again,  I  should  like  to  remember  her 
as  she  seemed  that  day,  sitting  cutting  off  towels  and  table  linen, 
now  and  then  giving  directions  quietly  about  her  dinner,  so 
gentle  and  affectionate  to  the  little  children,  and  interested  in 
hunting  up  dolls  and  playthings  for  them,  and  then  presiding  at 
that  long  dinner  table  full  of  guests,  with  such  grace  and  dignity. 
It  was  a  good,  plain,  abundant  dinner,  and  the  children  had  a 
side  table  close  by. — Mary  and  Fanny  were  enchanted.  .  .  . 

Hopewell,  April  29,  i860.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  I  read  Seward's  great  speech,  to  Joe  aloud. 
I  must  read  it  again  to  you.  It  is  very  grand.  It  is  like  a  dis- 
tant view  of  a  range  of  Alps,  when  you  can  only  see  the  different 
solid  masses  and  highest  peaks.  He  passes  from  sentence  to 
sentence,  from  one  great  idea  or  group  of  ideas  to  the  next,  not 
always  in  an  evident  logical  sequence,  but  yet  really  so  that  a 
little  reflection  shows  the  profound  connection.  I  cannot  agree 
with  Mrs.  Child.  There  is  certainly  something  higher  even 
than  the  enthusiastic  advocacy  of  the  truest  and  humanest  prin- 
ciple. Life  is  the  most  precious  thing  on  earth;  yet  the  law  of 
order  is  superior  to  the  law  of  life;  life  is  wasted  freely  to  main- 
tain order, — by  man's  police  and  by  God's  providence  alike. 
Seward's  attitude  was  unshrinking,  unmoved,  sublime.  He 
says  nothing  harsh,  because  he  evidently  feels  no  fear.  He 
hurries  nothing  forward,  because  he  is  so  sure  of  the  result.  The 
whole  scheme  and  policy  of  the  South  must  have  cowered  and 
sunk  into  the  ground  before  him,  as  he  delivered  the  speech.  It 
is  a  condensed  history — quintessence  and  extract  of  the  past 
history  of  the  Republic,  projected  visibly  upon  the  canvas  of 
the  future.  I  use  a  mixed  metaphor,  but  you  know  what  I  mean, 
and  I  don't  know  how  else  to  express  it.     He  is  the  only  far- 


i86o  ANTE-BELLUM  TIMES  385 

seeing  statesman,  as  far  as  I  can  judge  by  what  is  said  and  printed, 
that  we  now  have.  I  mean  thoroughly  philosophical  and  clear- 
sighted. His  advocacy  of  Liberty  seems  to  me  perfect.  And 
even  when  he  says  that  extraordinary  sentence,  "All  of  the  states 
are  parcels  of  my  own  country,  .  .  .  the  best  of  them  not  so 
wise  and  great  as  I  am  sure  it  will  hereafter  be;  the  state  least 
developed  and  perfected  among  them  all,  is  wiser  and  better 
than  any  foreign  state  I  know";  and,  again,  "Throughout  the 
wide  world,  where  is  the  state  where  class  and  caste  are  so  utterly 
extinguished  as  they  are  in  each  and  every  one  of  them?"  I 
hesitate  to  dissent  from  him,  by  naming  Alabama  and  South 
Carolina,  because  I  feel  that  he  must  have  a  deeper  meaning 
than  I  apprehend.  But  you  must  read  it  with  me,  and  compare 
your  opinion  of  it  with  mine  and  hers.  .  .  . 

May  or  June,  i860.     SuSAN  I.  Lesley  to  her 
Aunt  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about  a  beautiful  evening  visit  we 
had  before  Peter  left,  from  a  lovely  old  Scotchman,  an  Iron  Master 
from  Glasgow,  who  brought  letters  to  Peter.  He  was  a  Mr. 
Young,  an  intimate  friend  of  Dr.  Livingstone  of  African  celeb- 
rity, and  who  has.  the  charge  and  guardianship  of  Dr.  Living- 
stone's wife  and  family.  He  told  us  many  anecdotes  of  him, 
and  gave  us  an  account,  not  yet  made  public,  of  his  late  dis- 
covery of  an  immense  cotton-growing  tract  in  Africa,  near  the 
river  Zambesi.  If  all  turns  out  as  it  reasonably  should,  this 
cotton  will  supplant  the  Southern  cotton,  and  strike  a  death- 
blow at  slavery  in  the  South  in  ten  years'  time.  I  wish  I  had 
time  to  give  you  all  the  facts  and  circumstances  and  statistics, 
detailed  in  Dr.  Livingstone's  private  letter  to  this  gentleman, 
but  it  does  really  seem  as  if  Heaven  and  earth  were  combining 
to  make  the  odious  sin  of  slaveholding  unprofitable.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  May  15,  i860.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wipe. 

...  I  have  no  particular  news  to  tell  you ;  except  that  I  heard 
Booth  in  "Hamlet,"  last  evening.  It  is  a  marvellous  play.  I 
thought  I  understood  it,  for  the  first  time.  It  represented  to 
me  the  inefficiency  of  mere  thinking, — the  inharmonious  work- 
ing of  a  philosophic  mind  heroic  in  theory,  and  rich  in  ideas, 
with  an  epicurean,  utilitarian,  optimistic  will  resulting  in  a 
laissez-faire  and  compromise  conduct.  How  often  we  see  such 
a  character,  at  war  with  itself,  unable  to  bring  itself  to  dare 
what  it   would   do,   and   with   a   philosophic    suspicion    that, 


386  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

after  all,  its  aims  may  not  be  the  highest  and  best  ends  to  strive 
for!  the  father's  ghost  may  be  a  devil;  then  the  act  of  justice 
will  have  been  an  act  of  misguided  passion;  and  where  will  be 
the  gain?  The  martyrdom  has  been  thrown  away.  A  Hamlet 
has  no  idea  that  martyrdom  can  be  beautiful  or  desirable  for 
itself;  but  only  for  its  uses.  The  key  to  the  play  is  wonderfully 
offered  to  the  audience,  where,  after  a  long  and  thorough  prepa- 
ration for  it,  Hamlet  opens  an  act  with  the  celebrated  monologue 
"to  be,  or  not  to  be."  Yes,  that  was  his  question — all  the  way 
through.  It  is  the  question  of  every  such  gentle  philosopher. 
Not  his  own  "to  be,"  but  that  of  every  object  he  sees  and  act  he 
does.  "Am  I  deceived  or  am  I  sure  of  my  work, — that  is  the 
question."  Do  I  walk  amid  deceptions,  and  is  all  my  zeal  for 
justice  and  truth  to  be  a  morning  cloud,  or  evening  aurora; 
and  is  the  other  life  like  this — and  death  a  sleep  wherein  we 
merely  dream  ?  If  so,  why  mart>Tize  our  souls  for  truth,  and 
our  bodies  for  temperance. 

I  am  convinced  by  this  play  that,  whether  Shakespeare,  or 
Lord  Bacon,  or  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  wrote  it,  the  writer  was  the 
greatest  the  world  has  ever  produced.  No  painting,  no  sculpt- 
ure, no  epic  poem  even  rivals  it  as  work  of  art  or  genius.  Its 
moral  teachings  come  in  like  those  grand  rare  phenomena  of 
the  natural  cosmos,  falls  of  stars  and  volcanic  eruptions,  each 
complete  in  itself,  and  perfectly  ornamental  to  the  interval  [in- 
tegral?] whole  of  commonplace  life.  It  is  a  privilege  to  be  born 
with  English  for  one's  mother  tongue,  to  hear  this  play.  .  .  . 

Phu-ADELPHia,  May  19,  i860.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  not  learned  the  news,  but  fear  that  Seward  is 
nominated.  If  so  Douglas  will  be  at  Baltimore,  and  the  elec- 
tion go  into  the  House  next  winter,  when  after  a  stormy  session 
and  the  secession  of  Georgia,  Mississippi  and  Co.,  Bell  or 
Guthrie  will  be  made  President,  and  another  four -year  fight 
commence.  Seward  is  selfish  and  untrustworthy,  cold-hearted 
and  ambitious.  .  .  . 

May  20,  i860.     To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Last  evening  George  Steams  *  arrived  from  Kansas,  and 
occupied  my  thoughts  from  five  to  ten  p.m.  I  took  him  to  see 
James  Lesley  and  Professor  Cleveland,  and  the  latter  gave  us  a 

*  See  "The  Life  and  Public  Services  of  George  Luther  Stearns."  By 
Frank  Preston  Stearns.  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company:  Philadelphia  and 
London.     1907. 


i86o  ANTE-BELLUM   TIMES  387 

list  of  people  likely  to  help  us  with  money  to  support  county 
organizations,  to  protect  and  make  it  perfectly  safe  for  the  negroes 
to  settle  among  them.  I  will  tell  you  some  of  his  remarkable 
stories  when  we  meet  again.  .  .  . 

May  22,  i860.     To  His  Wipe. 

.  .  .  Last  evening — yesterday  in  fact  at  2.30  p.m.,  Steams 
and  I  dined  with  Hector  Tyndall  and  his  wife,  and  then  hunted 
up  Ned  Lesley,  and  coming  home  to  see  all  was  well  here,  went 
again  there  to  tea  at  seven,  had  a  hot  dispute  about  Whitman 
("Leaves  of  Grass"  Whitman)  and  held  our  meeting  at  eight 
when  Ned  Lesley,  Edward  M.  Davis,  Professor  Cleveland, 
McKim,  Passmore  Williamson,  and  Wm.  B.  Thomas  and  his 
nephew  Allen,  dropped  in,  and  a  Kansas  lecture  was  delivered 
by  Stearns  with  interruptions  from  us.  It  was  admirable  to  see 
how  under  pressure  all  his  ordinary  weaknesses  vanished.  He 
was  clear,  precise,  short,  and  full.  We  were  all  much  interested 
and  will  do  what  we  can  to  organize  here.  .  .  . 

May  27,  i860.    Peter  Lesley  to  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  How  do  you  fancy  the  Representative  Man  set  aside, 
and  Old  Abe  put  in  his  place?  I  am  democrat  enough  to  like 
the  idea  of  a  fiat-boat  man  and  farmer  rising  to  rule  over  30,000,- 
000  of  people.  The  lawyers  and  gentry  are  sadly  vexed  about  it. 
For  my  part  I  would  extinguish  these  two  classes,  if  I  could,  and 
certainly  never  let  them  sit  in  any  seat  of  power.  If  we  could  get 
rid  of  lawyers  and  gentlemen,  clergymen  would  grow  good  and 
politicians  honest,  for  want  of  encouragement  to  be  time-serving. 
It  would  be  a  nice  way  to  reach  a  reform.  The  probabilities  now 
are  decidedly  in  favor  of  a  republican  triumph.     Then  what  next? 

George  Stearns  spent  three  days  with  me,  trying  to  organize 
a  Philadelphia  Kansas  Society  {stib  rosa).  His  communications 
were  very  interesting,  and  show  that  the  question  out  there  is  far 
from  being  settled.  We  may  hope  for  the  best,  however,  as  the 
free  state  population  is  numerous  and  vigorous,  determined  to 
protect  themselves  and  the  blacks,  and  to  make  the  border  coun- 
ties impassable.  .  .  , 

Philadelphia,  June  15,  i860.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  read  Sumner's*  speech  this  morning,  and  wish  to  fall 
at  his  feet  and  worship  him.     He  is  a  great  man.     I  am  astonished 

*  "The  Barbarism  of  Slavery,"  a  speech  by  Charles  Sumner  in  the 
Senate  in  June,  i860  (see  page  322,  Life  of  Charles  Sumner,  by  Jeremiah 
Chaplin  and  I.  D.  Chaplin). 


388  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

that  the  Tribune  did  not  print  it  entire.  It  is  the  most  symmet- 
rical and  perfect,  the  strongest  and  grandest  of  orations  on  the 
greatest  subject  of  our  day.  Ought  not  every  man  to  throw 
himself  into  the  coming  conflict !  Is  not  now  the  time  ?  I  cannot 
see  that  any  other  topic  is  worth  a  word.  Stearns  writes  me  that 
he  has  raised  $i,ooo  in  Boston.  .  .  . 

Roadside  [Germantown],  June  17,  i860.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  After  the  Friday  evening  meeting  I  went  up  Chestnut 
Street  and  stood  for  an  hour  at  the  corner  of  Sixth,  and  then 
worked  my  way  up  through  dense  crowds,  until  I  was  finally 
stopped  opposite  the  Girard  House.  The  Japanese  occupied 
windows  and  balconies  of  the  Continental,  and  about  eleven 
o'clock  the  procession  came  down.  The  roaring  and  singing 
of  the  crowds  was  fearful.  Every  fire  company  carried  torches 
and  fired  volleys  of  Roman  candles  which  burst  against  the  walls 
and  on  the  roofs.  Many  of  them  were  shot  among  the  Japanese. 
I  never  saw  a  more  barbarous,  brutal  exhibition.  The  steam 
fire-engines  burnt  red  fire  and  sounded  their  whistles  along  the 
line.  I  was  tired  before  half  the  play  was  played  out,  and  went 
home  to  bed,  glad  to  escape  from  the  uproar.*  .  .  . 

Judge  Coxe  will  have  me  go  with  him  this  week  to  the  Nes- 
quihoning  Mountain.  But  next  Tuesday  coming,  Frazer,  Ken- 
dall, Trego  and  I  meet  the  Committee  of  the  University  Trustees 
at  Fairman  Rogers'  house  to  talk  about  lectures  next  winter. 
Rogers  paid  me  $17.50  as  my  share  of  the  receipts.  Hamilton 
has  sent  for  me  to  pay  me  what  the  Franklin  Institute  owes  me, 
for  the  course  there  last  winter. 

At  present  I  am  very  busy  at  the  Library  and  can  keep  Mr. 
Dyke  occupied  v\dth  the  Catalogue  and  answering  letters  while  I 
am  away. 

I  shall  now  take  a  walk,  happy  to  think  that  you  are  safe 
with  Katie.  I  send  you  Greeley's  and  Weed's  letters.  Keep 
them  carefully  and  read  them,  for  they  are  very  interesting. 
Adieu. 

June  17,  i860.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  brother  Allen. 

.  .  .  My  ov^Ti  plans  are  very  indefinite.  I  shall  spend  this  week 
on  the  Nesquihoning  Mountain,  north  of  Mauch  Chunk,  and 

*  See  William  Garrett  Browne's  "Tenth  Decade  of  the  United  States" 
(Atlantic  for  July,  1905,  p.  33).  "In  i860,  eight  years  before  the  Burlingame 
embassy  from  China,  a  Japanese  embassy,  the  first  ever  sent  to  any  foreign 
country,  had  visited  the  United  States  to  exchange  ratifications  of  the  sec- 
ond Harris  treaty." 


i86o  ANTE-BELLUM  TIMES  389 

next  week  perhaps  at  St.  Mary's,  in  Elk  County;  probably  some 
time  in  the  Broad  Top,  and  the  last  week  of  July  at  Newport, 
where  the  Association  meets  this  year.  I  am  trying  to  make  it 
a  summer  of  rest,  which  I  need. 

How  beautiful  the  freshness  of  June  is!  In  the  City,  in 
politics,  in  dry  scientific  details,  we  lose  our  own  freshness,  like 
the  August  nature,  hot,  dry,  faded,  but  bearing  fruit  in  autumn. 

I  have  been  reading  the  newspapers  more  than  books,  for  a 
year  past.  I  revel  in  politics,  on  both  sides  of  the  water.  You 
know  my  ardent  democratic  and  republican  tendencies. — They 
have  ample  enjoyment  now  in  the  steady  advance  of  democratic 
ideas  along  great  practical  ways,  in  Europe,  and  in  the  full  as- 
surance of  the  overthrow  of  the  present  an ti -democratic  govern- 
ment in  this  country,  next  spring.  I  half  wish  I  had  a  good  excuse 
for  going  practically  into  politics.  Every  honest  man  will  be 
wanted  next  year  to  keep  the  conquering  party  straight;  up  to 
their  past  principles  and  true  to  general  principles.  For  I  have 
no  faith  in  professional  politicians  of  any  name.  But  I  have 
unshaken  faith  in  the  superior  power  of  good  politics  over  bad, 
in  the  course  of  years.  Politicians,  as  people,  are  so  apt  to  think 
their  private  operations  in  politics  can  be  kept  secret  from  their 
public  acts  and  general  influence  over  politics.  I  judge  also  that 
many  a  "great  man"  has  honestly  so  mean  an  opinion  of  himself, 
that  it  never  comes  to  his  consciousness  fairly  that  anything  he 
may  do  for  his  private  benefit  will  be  considered  of  national  im- 
portance by  the  nation.  ... 

Philadelphia,  June  21,  i860.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  send  you  some  beautiful  words  of  Emerson  about 
Parker.  How  we  should  have  enjoyed  them  together  there! 
But  these  words  are  like  winds  from  clover  fields  and  can  reach 
the  furthest  places.  .  .  . 

Algonac,  June  22,  i860.     Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Did  you  read  Emerson's  speech  about  Parker?  It  was 
noble.  .  .  . 

June  22,  i860.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Douglas  is  nominated.  The  Southerners  have  seceded. 
The  victory  is  ours.  I  hope  our  President  will  rule  wisely.  It 
is  a  crisis  in  the  world's  history.  .  .  . 


390  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

Algonac,  July  7,  i860.     Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  shall  go  to  Canada  (Rudeau  Canal),  on  the  twenty-third 
and  work  round  to  Boston  by  the  third  or  fourth  of  August.  In 
which  case  I  shall  try  to  stay  in  your  parts  for  a  week  or  two.  I 
should  like  to  travel  with  you  somewhere,  but  am  not  sure  I  can. 
I  have  just  dodged  a  government  coal  survey  in  New  Granada 
and  Costa  Rica  of  four  months,  and  have  another  in  Illinois  hang- 
ing by  the  eyelids.  .  .  . 

About  this  time  my  father,  in  connection  with  an  expert 
instrument  maker,  Becker,  invented  a  very  sensitive  barome- 
ter, to  be  used  in  preliminary  topographical  surveys,  etc. 
There  v^ere  but  five  of  these  instruments  made,  which  were 
distributed  among  a  few  intimate  friends  and  assistants. 
One  of  them  was  sent  to  his  brother-in-law  Mr.  Joseph 
Lyman,  one  to  his  brother  Joseph  Lesley,  one  to  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin S.  Lyman  (?),  and  one  to  his  friend  Hodge,  perhaps. 
The  fifth  he  kept  himself,  and  used  constantly  until  the  end 
of  his  field-work  career.  In  1874,  when  he  wished  to  find 
equally  sensitive  barometers  to  be  used  by  his  assistants 
on  the  Second  Survey,  he  sought  for  some  time  in  vain  to 
find  Becker,  to  get  him  to  make  them,  but  the  latter  had 
become  an  old  man,  and,  when  found,  was  unable  to  under- 
take such  work  any  longer.  My  father  always  considered 
his  original  five  barometers  as  the  most  sensitive  ever  con- 
structed, and  used  to  say  that  they  would  measure  and  record 
two  feet  of  vertical  height  with  great  regularity. 

From  a  short  trip  to  New  Hampshire  with  Miss  Rob- 
bins,  to  recruit  after  an  illness,  he  writes  the  following 
pleasant  letter  of  social  enjoyment: — 

Waterville  [N.H.  ?],  Aug.  12,  i860.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  HIS  Wipe. 

.  .  .  There  are  a  few  little  children  here,  one  of  them  [E.  D.  H.] 
a  rare  precocious  child  of  five  years'  age,  with  a  weird,  deep,  sweet 
voice,  and  who  asks  the  strangest  questions  and  makes  the  oldest 
remarks,  is  the  most  attractive.  A  Miss  Means  plays  superbly 
for  us,  mostly  Chopinish  music,  but  in  a  way  that  don't  make  me 
swear;    and  "to  her,"  as  the  stage  directions  have  it,  came  yes- 


i86o  ANTE-BELLUM  TIMES  391 

terday  the  young  architect   ,  with  sketch  box  and  board, 

a  lover  of  chess,  and  a  faithful  recipient  of  the  Tribune.  I  shall 
cultivate  him.  Then  we  have  other  Valuables.  The  Mr.  Knapp, 
to  whom  Foster  and  Whiting  give  the  credit  of  discovering  the 
celebrated  Minnesota  Copper  mine,  and  who  bought,  worked 
and  sold  it  years  ago,  and  has  since  devoted  himself  at  Jackson 
(seventy  miles  west  of  Detroit)  to  Pomology  and  Horticulture, 
has  been  here  several  weeks,  and  is  adventurous  after  crystals, 
etc.,  to  the  tops  of  the  peaks.  So  is  another  old  fellow  whom 
I  don't  yet  much  know. — On  the  side  of  philology  I  have  young 
Frank  Scudder,  a  year  out  of  the  Andover  School,  and  to  go  to 
Madeira  as  a  Missionary  next  winter.  With  him  I  have  had 
long  discussions  on  Tamil  and  Sanskrit,  grammars  and  vocabu- 
lary of  which  he  has  here,  heaven  be  praised!   to  refer  to.  .  .  . 

The  views  are  fine  all  the  way  up,  as  Mt.  Lafayette,  and  the 
rest  of  the  Franconia  peaks  were  in  full  view,  mixed  with  the 
mountains  of  the  Mad  River.     [Sketch.] 

An  important  geological  fact  is  the  procession  of  great  dips 
S.  E.  or  S.  S.  E.,  from  5°  to  15°  only  in  strength,  showing  that  the 
whole  country  is  cut  out  of  nearly  horizontal  strata,  and  con- 
forming excellently  with  the  section  I  made  at  Gorham. 

To-day,  Sunday,  we  have  had  services  in  the  large  drawing- 
room,  a  sermon  from  young  Scudder  at  10.30  of  a  strong  Andover 
liberal  type,  and  good;  and  a  lecture  on  the  Druses  and  Maro- 
nites,  this  afternoon  at  2.30. — Since  then  I  have  been  sleeping  .... 

Waterville,  Aug.  14,  i860.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  We  live  here  very  quietly,  reading,  writing,  walking  up 
and  down  the  hall,  eating  and  sleeping.  Books  are  plenty,  and 
appear  mysteriously.  I  have  greatly  enjoyed  a  late  number 
of  the  BibUotheca  Sacra;  articles  on  Sophocles,  and  Michelet's 
history,  especially  one  on  the  reality  of  the  resurrection  of  Christ, 
gave  me  a  new  assurance  of  its  reahty.  .  .  .  Chess  has  been  a 

great  resource.    and  I  have  played  nine  games  with  equal 

success.  A  game  is  going  on  before  me,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
kerosene  lamp,  and  a  boy  is  drumming  up  recruits  for  charades, 
so  that  I  can't  tell  my  own  thoughts  in  the  confusion. 

The  Catalogue  advances. — I  spend  about  four  hours  on  it 
a  day  and  find  that  that  about  exhausts  my  spare  strength.  The 
mountain  air  and  especially  the  pleasant  stir  and  happy  excite- 
ment here  has  kept  me  in  fine  spirits  and  I  take  again  hopeful 
views  of  the  future.  .  .  . 


392  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvi 

Philadelphia,  Sept.  17,  i860.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Evening  spent  with  Frazer  until  ten  o'clock — very  agree- 
ably.— ^Le  Conte  came  in. — ^Politics  run  high — ^very  high  here. 
Lincoln  is  acknowledged  president;  but  Curtin's  governorship 
is  a  little  uncertain. 

Sherman  did  himself  immense  honor  the  other  night.  Schurz, 
the  great  German,  speaks  at  the  Wigwam  to-night.  .  .  . 

Sept.  18,  i860.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Our  own  new  Provost,  Mr.  Goodwin  of  Hartford,  was  in- 
augurated last  Monday  [University  of  Pennsylvania].  That  was 
another  thing  I  missed.  It  is  not  judicious  for  me  to  be  always 
absent  from  these  times.  Goodwin  is  a  jovial  gentleman,  a  liberal 
clergyman,  who  will  bring  trouble  on  himself  by  telling  all  he 
thinks.  He  is  greatly  liked,  and  will  influence  the  boys  well. 
Tell  Chauncey  he  has  begun  already  to  inform  his  class  that  they 
naturally  know  more  of  mind  than  of  matter — to  the  great  amaze- 
ment of  the  faculty  and  scandal  of  the  Academy  of  Natural  Sci- 
ences. 

Yesterday  I  supped  with  the  Chases,  who  got  home  Friday, 
and  went  afterward  with  them  to  the  Wigwam,  to  see  and  hear 
the  great  Carl  Schurz.  It  was  crowded  and  stifling,  and  I  stayed 
but  to  see  him  and  hear  his  first  few  sentences  in  German.  He 
has  a  fine  head  and  fine  voice,  speaks  as  if  old  at  the  business, 
and  commands  his  audience.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Dec.  16,  i860.    Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  her  Aunt  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  What  a  miserable  state  of  times  we  are  living  in!  Our 
Mayor  Henry,  whom  we  thought  so  much  of,  has  caved  in  ut- 
terly, as  I  fear  half  the  Republicans  will  do. — He  has  actually 
prevented  [Geo.  Wm.]  Curtis  from  lecturing  here,  on  a  purely  lit- 
erary subject,  and  after  the  hall  had  been  hired  for  months.  I 
though  the  John  Brown  sympathizers  were  very  unwise  to  have 
any  meeting  at  all  in  these  exciting  times,  in  Boston.  They  might 
have  been  quiet,  without  sacrificing  any  principle,  and  the  great 
fault  of  the  AboHtionists  is,  that  they  never  will  pay  the  least  re- 
gard to  times  and  seasons.     Still  I  was  quite  disgusted  that 

.  .  .  should  have  been  one  of  the  miserable  party  who  wished 

to  stop  free  speech,  and  passed  such  horrid  resolutions.  ...  I 
have  been  greatly  refreshed  by  reading  Mr.  Emerson's  last  vol- 
ume; and  Buckle,  which  I  began  two  years  ago,  but  never  fin- 
ished. .  .  » 


CHAPTER  XVII 

War  Times.     1861-1863 

The  winter  of  1860-61  was  an  anxious  one.  My 
father  had  entered  into  a  business  connection  with  some 
Boston  men  to  carry  on  a  process  for  the  desulphurization 
of  coal,  to  be  used  in  iron  foundries.  He  was  agent  in 
Pennsylvania  and  several  other  States  for  the  patent  of  this 
process. 

A  coal-yard  was  purchased,  and  he  both  superintended 
the  workings,  and  travelled  to  promote  the  use  of  the  patent 
in  other  locahties.  It  proved  an  unfortunate  undertaking, 
owing  to  bad  faith  on  the  part  of  some  of  his  associates, 
and  probably  also  to  lack  of  capital.  Whatever  the  causes 
of  unsuccess  may  have  been,  it  was  an  anxious  and  unhappy 
period  for  the  little  household,  and  my  father  was  very  glad, 
at  the  end  of  a  year  or  two,  to  get  rid  of  the  whole  thing, 
at  a  loss,  but  leaving  him  cleared  of  debt  and  responsibihty. 
He  never  again  was  wilHng  to  embark  on  any  business  or 
semi-business  undertaking,  but  confined  his  energies  to 
purely  scientific  and  literary  work. 

In  the  spring  of  1861  the  loss  of  a  Httle  son,  who  died 
at  birth,  was  a  deep  sorrow  to  both  my  mother  and  father. 
She  writes  to  her  Aunt  Catherine  Robbins,  March  26: — 

I  could  see  his  strong  resemblance  to  my  brother  Joseph. 
It  was  no  fancy.  As  I  looked  at  him,  and  thought  of  what  his 
father  and  all  his  grandfathers  on  both  sides  of  our  family  were 
for  many  generations,  I  could  not  think  he  would  have  had  other 
than  a  good  nature  to  start  with.  But  my  faith  is  sure  that  that 
little  germ  of  life  will  be  carried  on  and  perfected  elsewhere.  It 
seemed  very  important  to  me  to  have  that  little  child,  but  no 
doubt  the  lessons  of  this  last  year  of  suffering  were  more  im- 
portant to  me,  in  the  harmonious  plan  of  the  eternal  Provi- 
dence. 

393 


394  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvii 

In  the  winter  of  1862  my  father  went  to  Montreal  on 
scientific  business,  and  in  the  summer  of  the  same  year  spent 
several  months  on  the  Nova  Scotia  coast,  at  Gaspe  and  its 
neighborhood,  making  a  geological  survey  in  the  interest 
of  a  Boston  company. 

From  about  this  time  (1862)  he  often  mentions  the 
Sunday  evenings  spent  at  his  friend  John  Frazer's  house. 
These  evenings  were  the  greatest  social  pleasures  which  he 
ever  experienced.  Here  met  weekly  a  group  of  men  active 
in  many  lines  of  scientific  and  literary  work;  and  as  most 
of  them  were  intimates,  these  evenings  were  delightfully 
informal,  and  full  of  vivacity  and  fun,  mixed  with  the  most 
serious  conversation  on  broad  and  high  themes.  To  these 
meetings  also  it  was  the  custom  for  the  regular  guests  to 
bring  with  them  any  visiting  friend  to  whom  they  might 
wish  to  give  a  great  pleasure.  Professor  Frazer's  cordiality 
welcomed  all  such  accessions  to  the  social  group  with  genial 
hospitality. 

These  meetings  were  kept  up  for  many  years,  and  after 
Professor  Frazer's  death  were  (after  an  interval)  continued 
by  Professor  Fairman  Rogers,  where  much  of  the  same 
good  comradeship  and  spirit  of  personal  affection  prevailed. 
My  father  used  to  return  at  the  end  of  such  an  evening  in 
the  most  deHghtful  spirits,  and  retailed  to  us  such  points 
of  the  brilliant  conversations  as  he  could  bring  home  in 
his  memory. 

The  breaking  out  of  the  Civil  War  affected  the  lives  of 
all  citizens, — of  those  who  were  merely  lookers-on  as  well 
as  of  those  in  the  armies  of  the  North  and  South. 

Philadelphia  was  near  enough  to  the  seat  of  war  to  feel 
the  constant  throb  of  the  battles  to  the  south  of  it,  and  daily 
Northern  troops  marched  through  its  long  avenues  on  their 
way  from  the  Kensington  Station  at  the  north  to  the  old 
Baltimore  depot  on  the  southern  edge  of  the  city.  All 
day  the  drums  beat,  and  the  children  hurried  to  watch  the 
soldiers  pass.  Later  we  saw  the  sadder  sights  of  the  return- 
ing troops,  limping  and  weather-worn,  with  tattered  flags 
and  tarnished  uniforms. 

The  city  was  full  of  hospitals,  and  the  environs  of  camps. 


1861-63  WAR  TIMES  395 

Every  one  who  could,  was  mending  and  making  and  knitting 
and  cooking  for  the  soldiers.  Even  the  little  children  in 
many  a  household,  and  at  church  and  social  gatherings, 
picked  lint,  and  felt  themselves  a  part  of  the  great  struggle. 
Many  a  private  house  was  an  adjunct  to  the  hospital,  and 
had  its  wounded  men  to  tend.  Those  who  hved  through 
those  days  in  a  border  city  will  seldom  hear  drum-and-fife 
sound  without  the  old  war  scenes  coming  back  to  memory, 
or  without  the  tear  rising  to  the  eye,  or  without  feeling  the 
sob  in  the  throat. 

There  is  nothing  remarkable  in  these  letters  of  1861-63, 
but  they  give  the  vivid  impression  of  what  an  ardent  Union 
man  and  woman — ^Abolitionists  as  well — felt  and  thought 
and  suffered  in  that  dark  period.  It  was  only  what  the 
great  crowd  of  thoughtful  lookers-on  experienced,  but  it 
represented  the  sentiment  of  the  better  part  of  the  North, 
that  which  gave  courage  to  those  in  power,  and  to  the  sol- 
diers on  the  field  to  carry  the  great  struggle  to  a  successful 
finish. 

In  the  spring  of  1863  my  father  was  asked  to  be  one  of 
the  corporators  of  the  new  National  Academy  of  Sciences, 
and  became  one  of  the  original  fifty  to  form  that  famous 
association.  In  April  it  was  established.  The  account 
of  the  meeting  for  incorporation  shows  that  political  differ- 
ences and  sectional  animosities  were  felt  even  in  scientific 
circles. 

In  June,  1863,  he  made  a  surveying  trip  to  Glace  Bay, 
N.S.,  where  he  spent  about  two  months.  My  cousin  Benja- 
min S.  Lyman  was  with  him  in  this  work. 

Philadelpbxa.,  Jan.  19,  1861.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to 
Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  have  had  great  pleasure  in  listening  to  fine  conversations 
the  last  few  weeks.  Peter  often  has  gentlemen  here  of  an  evening, 
Mr.  Towne,  Mr.  Winsor,  Professor  Frazer,  now  and  then  a  young 
Storer,  and  Cox,  very  intelligent  fellows.  Dr.  W.  is  often  brill- 
iant with  anecdotes,  has  had  a  most  varied  and  eventful  life, 
and  is  full  of  vivid  imagination.  I  lie  on  my  sofa  in  the  far  corner 
of  the  room,  and  pick  up  a  few  ideas  now  and  then,  on  Mechanics, 
Metaphysics,  Psychology  and  the  hke,  without  the  trouble  of 


396  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvii 

hunting  for  them.  Peter  is  thus  far  very  successful  in  his  lectures 
at  the  [Franklin]  Institute,  the  audience  large  and  enthusiastic, 
requesting  him  to  exceed  his  time  and  showing  much  interest. 
Every  day  he  finds  time  to  read  the  Tribune  nearly  through,  to 
the  Dr.  and  myself,  and  then  we  speculate  on  secession,  and  the 
other  public  questions.  What  an  uncertain  labyrinth  public 
events  are  wound  up  in,  and  who  can  see  the  end  ?  It  seems  as 
if  one  must  just  stand  for  months,  a  watcher  on  a  tower,  not 
knowing  what  he  will  next  see  pass  by  him.  .  ,  . 


In  April,  1861,  my  father  went  West  as  far  as  St.  Louis 
in  the  interests  of  the  patent. 

Indianapolis,  April  11,  1861.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  To-morrow  at  eleven  a.m.  I  shall  leave  again  for  St.  Louis, 
and  be  there  at  nine  p.m.  There  are  iron-works  here  which  I 
wish  to  see  in  the  morning,  if  it  stops  raining.  The  utter  cheer- 
lessness  and  loneliness  of  his  journey  exceed  all  I  ever  experi- 
enced on  the  road.  A  wide  fiat  desert,  ornamented  with  occasional 
shanties,  and  not  half  of  it  yet  cleared  of  its  timber,  stretches 
from  the  Beaver  river  in  Pennsylvania  to  the  banks  of  the  Missis- 
sippi,— a  land  of  horror  and  silence  to  the  poet  and  historian; — 
a  land  of  brutality  now — what  it  is  to  be  God  knows,  not  I.  .  .  . 
Renan's  book  on  Language  and  David's  on  Jupiter  have  amused 
the  tedium  of  the  way;  but  it  is  wearisome  to  read  at  thirty  or 
forty  miles  an  hour,  and  I  do  not  agree  with  either  of  the  writers. 
...  I  write  in  a  roofed  desert  called  in  America  a  Hotel — acres 
long  and  deep,  without  a  comfort  or  a  picture,  or  a  reminiscence, 
in  all  its  hundred  rooms.  .  .  . 

Terre  Haute,  April  12,  1861.     To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  No  political  excitement  manifests  itself  anywhere  along 
the  line.  To-morrow  morning  I  shall  expect  news  of  a  battle  at 
Charleston,  at  my  breakfast  in  St.  Louis.  .  .  . 

St.  Louis,  Sunday,  April  14,  186 1.     To  his  Wife. 

A  beautiful  day  opens  over  this  great  city,  and  the  greater 
river  rolling  and  swelling  beside  it.  The  incessant  rains  of  the 
last  few  weeks  are  coming  down  this,  their  grand  channel,  to  the 
sea,  like  the  history  which  a  poet  writes,  from  all  the  gatherings 
of  his  past  thoughts  and  feelings.     It  is  a  law  that  the  universal 


i86i  WAR  TIMES  397 

shall  strive  ever  to  impress  itself  upon  time,  by  concentration. 
Thus  it  obtains  personality.  The  electricity  of  the  atmosphere 
becomes  the  flash  and  bolt;  the  w^orld  life  breaks  forth  in  the 
child;  God,  in  man;  the  possible,  in  single  facts;  the  disease  of 
years,  in  a  sudden  death  struggle;  the  strain  of  ages,  in  a  momen- 
tary earthquake;  the  animosity  of  races,  in  a  battle.  How  sicken- 
ing are  these  black  streams  of  news,  which  flow  now  hour  by  hour 
across  our  land, — Acheron  and  Styx,  with  Charon's  boat,  waiting 
to  take  our  Liberties  across  into  the  land  of  shades!  I  see  as 
much  to  dread  from  the  sudden  inauguration  of  military  rule  at 
Washington  as  at  Montgomery.  How  suddenly  the  bale-fires 
glare  up  from  the  whole  north!  Don't  tell  me  that  the  Northerner 
is  not  warlike!  I  feel  sure  that  there  is  opened  a  tremendous 
campaign.  I  foresee  ship  after  ship  leaving  the  Northern  ports, 
for  a  month  to  come,  to  carry  desolation  along  the  southern  shores. 
If  so,  then  the  defence  must  be,  carrying  the  war  into  Africa,  and 
that  can  only  be  done  through  Virginia  and  Kentucky  Northward. 
I  feel  more  sorry  than  ever  that  I  have  undertaken  this  new  busi- 
ness now.     I  have  learned  much  here. 

Called  there  on  Mr.  Eliot  *  and  had  a  very  pleasant  interview. 
He  kindly  interested  himself  in  my  matters  and  gave  me  assist- 
ance. After  supper  I  went  to  see  the  "  Judenfamilie "  played  at 
the  German  Opera  House  and  was  charmed.  It  realized  my 
ideal  of  the  drama,  gentle,  earnest,  intellectual  and  moral,  a 
little  too  finely  written  (of  course)  and  therefore  less  piquant  and 
stirring,  but  leaving  the  whole  heart  warm.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  April  16,  1861.    Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  HER  Husband. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  was  very  exciting  day  in  the  city  owing  to 
the  war  news.  Generals  Patterson  and  Cadwalader  were  mobbed 
and  obliged  to  put  out  Union  flags  or  there  is  no  telling  what 
would  have  become  of  them.  The  Mayor  was  obliged  to  take 
in  charge  a  building  occupied  by  a  Secession  newspaper,  or  it 
would  have  been  torn  down.  The  excitement  is  fearful,  and  the 
North  fairly  aroused.  .  .  . 

St.  Louis,  April  15,  1861.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  been  so  busy  and  so  happily  occupied  that  I  could  not 
spare  time  to  write.     Yesterday  I  went  to  church;  heard  a  charm- 

*  See  "William  Greenleaf  Eliot,  Minister,  Educator,  Philanthropist. 
By  Charlotte  C  EUot.     Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.:  Boston.     1904." 


398  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xvn 

ing  sermon  from  Mr.  Eliot  and  the  most  heavenly  music.  Went 
home  to  dine  with  Judge  Krum  and  his  lovely  wife,  and  loveliest 
little  Meggie,  and  her  brother.  .  .  .  Meggie  sat  on  the  arm  of  my 
chair  with  her  arm  round  my  neck  and  I  told  her  about  "The  Pil- 
grim's Progress,"  and  other  books  she  must  read.  Little  Angel, 
Little  Gypsy.  .  .  . 

Politically  things  look  worse  and  worse.  The  greatest  ex- 
citement prevails.  All  business  is  stopped.  Even  the  shipping 
of  grain  and  flour  down  the  river  stopped  to-day.  The  rumor  of 
Scott's  resignation  has  struck  the  Republican  party  dumb;  but 
there  is  a  general  inability  to  believe  the  rumor.  The  Germans 
here  are  all  Northern  men.  But  the  city  is  full  of  desperate 
characters,  backed  by  the  country,  and  they  may  override  the 
strong  Union  sentiment  of  the  citizens.  If  Missouri  secedes,  as 
they  threaten  in  five  days  to  make  it,  it  will  precipitate  the  border 
states  into  the  Southern  confederacy.  Your  decided  action  in 
Philadelphia,  and  that  of  Baltimore  still  more  (what  did  I  tell 
you  about  Maryland?)  has  had  the  most  beneficial  effect  here 
already  in  strengthening  the  Union  party,  and  making  the  Seces- 
sionists hesitate.  There  are  rumors  of  an  assault  on  the  arsenal, 
but  it  is  heavily  guarded. 

.  .  .  May  the  good  spirit  of  Christ  rule  in  the  minds  and  hearts 
of  the  millions  of  the  North!  I  have  great  confidence  in  the 
Christian  common  sense,  and  sense  of  right  and  wrong,  of  the 
North.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  April  25,  1861.     Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  Peter  arrived  home  from  St.  Louis  last  Friday  night. 
His  journey  was  a  very  fatiguing  and  exciting  one.  He  came 
along  with  large  bodies  of  troops,  saw  the  most  heart-rending 
leave-takings  all  along  the  route,  talked  with  officers  and  men, 
and  got  all  the  various  opinions  about  the  war  from  the  wise  and 
the  unlearned.  At  the  top  of  the  Alleghanies,  the  train  broke 
down  from  a  slide  of  earth,  or  rather  they  were  tossed  up  into 
the  air  and  off  the  track.  No  one  fatally  injured,  which  seemed 
a  miracle,  but  the  detention  was  trying. 

Here,  you  have  no  conception  of  the  excitement.  At  night 
it  is  difficult  to  get  asleep,  for  Broad  Street  is  filled  with  troops 
drilling,  the  drums  beat  all  night,  and  companies  constantly 
arriving  and  marching  to  the  Broad  and  Prime  Street  Station. 
There  is  the  strangest  sound  all  over  the  city  like  the  humming 
of  a  top.    I  think  I  never  dreamed  of  anything  like  this.    The 


i86i  WAR  TIMES  399 

Girard  House  has  a  thousand  women  and  about  800  machines 
all  making  army  clothing,  and  the  ladies  all  over  the  city  are  busy 
as  possible.  Margie  Fumess  works  all  the  time,  and  has  a  ma- 
chine for  rolling  bandages  besides.  .  .  . 

New  York,  May  27,  1861.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  sat  an  hour  in  the  balcony  talking  with  a  gentleman 
just  from  Fortress  Monroe  (yesterday  a.m.,  Saturday)  who  said 
the  taking  of  Sewell's  point  was  a  "Cunard,''^  not  a  gun  was 
fired; — and  with  a  fine  old  gentleman  who  had  just  returned 
from  Washington  to  offer  to  return  into  the  Navy.  He  was 
raging  over  the  sangfroid  of  the  government  about  Prendergast's 
villanous  giving  up  of  the  Navy  Yard  instead  of  destroying  Nor- 
folk and  Gosport,  as  he  should  have  done.  But  Prendergast 
was  a  Virginian,  said  he  bitterly.  The  other  one  said  it  was  a 
great  mistake.  Before  the  act,  the  Union  men  in  Norfolk  were 
two  to  one;  after  it  not  a  Union  man  existed.  The  work  was 
only  half  done,  and  Virginia  is  being  made  impregnable  by  the 
use  of  this  yard.     We  must  remember  that  Scott  is  a  Virginian! 

From  this  end,  troops  leave  New  York  to-day  and  last  night. 
It  was  very  dusty  on  the  road.  A  young  Englishman  from 
Wilmington,  North  Carolina,  sat  by  me.  He  was  in  Richmond 
when  the  U.S.  took  Alexandria,  and  saw  the  delight  with  which 
the  South  heard  of  Ellsworth's  murder,  whom  they  dreaded  very 
much.  He  had  to  turn  aside  thus  and  go  around  by  Harper's 
Ferry,  where  he  and  another  Englishman  were  hard  put  to  it  by 
the  mob,  until  they  showed  passports.  .  .  . 

The  summer  of  1861  my  mother  spent  with  the  children 
at  a  farm  near  Philadelphia,  where  my  father  could  reach 
her  in  an  hour  or  two,  and  frequently  spend  a  day  with  her. 

Philadelphia,  June  28,  1861.     Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  George  Stearns  came  to  see  me  this  morning  at  ten 
o'clock,  fresh  from  Washington,  and  I  went  up  to  Bristol  with 
him.  He  had  a  hundred  interesting  stories  to  tell  me  of  public 
affairs,  which  he  looks  upon  with  a  very  hopeful  and  happy  en- 
thusiasm. So  do  I.  All  goes  well.  Is  it  possible  that  the  Botts 
letter  in  the  Tribune  of  to-day  is  a  truth — or  is  it  a  Canard  ?  I 
cannot  believe  it;   and  yet  it  ought  to  be  true.     I  spent  an  even- 


400  LIFE   AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvii 

ing  with  Charles  Sumner  a  week  ago,  and  all  he  said  failed  to 
change  my  conviction  that  in  three  months  the  war  will  be  at 
an  end.  The  Southern  army  must  melt  away,  like  snow  before 
the  sun's  advance  towards  the  equinox.  I  see  the  brutal  host 
scatter  and  fly  like  the  cloud  after  a  storm,  chased  apart  and  away 
by  the  great  northern  wind.  Meigs,  and  Banks,  and  Lyon,  and 
the  two  Blairs,  and  the  great  young  hero  McClellan,  and  Chase 
and  the  stable  old  Kingpost  of  the  realm,  Abe  Lincoln  himself, 
with  the  generalissimo  like  a  Titanic  body-guard  or  Mace-bearer 
of  the  Union,  form  a  glorious  group.  How  good  it  is  not  to 
have  died  last  year! 

Private  affairs  all  wait  on  the  national  adventure.  In  a 
few  months  this  Empire  (Republic  no  longer)  will  shake  itself 
from  its  war  clothes,  bathe,  and  dress  in  peaceful  working  garb, 
and  turn  to  its  avocations  with  a  new  force  and  pleasure,  be- 
ginning a  new  history. 

How  full  the  camps  must  be  of  personal  stories,  hair-breadth 
escapes,  acts  of  daring  and  suffering!  What  a  discipline  of 
strength  for  the  effeminate  boys  of  the  cities!  How  unexpectedly 
everything  happens!  Every  news  comes  like  a  flash  of  Hght- 
ning  from  some  fresh  quarter  of  the  horizon.  You  have  seen,  I 
suppose,  that  Hurlbut  has  been  captured  as  a  spy  down  South.  .  .  . 

LoNGBEACH,  Aug.  6,  1 86 1.     Peter  Lesley  to 
Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  ,  .  The  conflict  of  ages  is  surely  this:  Between  a  desire  to 
hold  converse  with  distant  friends  and  a  hatred  of  pen,  ink  and 
paper.  The  older  one  grows,  the  more  intangible  and  incom- 
pressible are  the  spirits  to  be  embodied,  limited  and  subjected  to 
language  in  a  letter.  How  much  description  a  single  glance 
around  one  calls  for!  How  many  reams  of  paper  might  be  filled 
from  ten  minutes'  recollections!  How  useless  the  task  to  ex- 
press the  hopes,  plans  and  dread  of  the  immediate  future!  In 
fact,  a  letter  is  a  mere  touch  of  the  hand, — it  goes  for  so  little, — 
it  leaves  so  much  to  be  said,  most  of  which  is  unsayable.  .  .  . 

We  are  half  a  mile  from  the  beach;  cannot  see  the  sea  from 
the  house,  and  have  no  rocks  of  any  kind  to  look  at,  or  sit  on  or 
see  from.  It  is  no  place  for  me.  I  find  myself  perpetually  wish- 
ing you  and  Susan  and  I  were  together  on  the  New  England  coast. 
Susan  wonders  if  you  and  she  will  ever  again  sit  on  the  N.E. 
rocks  until  the  tide  waves  come  up  to  your  feet. 

Nature  finds  us  up  some  new  kind  of  pleasure  or  new  kind 
of  peace, — instead  of  repeating  the  old. 


i86i  WAR  TIMES  401 

How  do  the  political  heavens  look  to  you  now?  They  are 
changed  from  grand  sunrise  to  gray  mom.  The  lull  of  impatient 
expectation  in  the  nation  is  like  that  at  a  theatre  or  grand  review 
when  the  principal  action  is  over.  Everybody  now  seems  to 
have  handed  the  responsibility  to  government  and  to  feel  that  it 
is  useless  to  talk  about  it.  I  cannot  but  think  that  our  future 
is  to  be  that  of  an  absolute  military  autocracy,  broken  up  oc- 
casionally by  rebellions  of  sections  in  the  North.  Like  crises 
in  the  life  of  a  human  body,  a  long  disease  has  come  to  a  head, 
and  will  be  lived  through  and  come  out  of  with  some  essential 
constitutional  change.  The  patient  has  been  consumptive  and 
will  henceforth  be  bilious.  It  is  of  little  importance,  for  these 
thirty  millions  are  but  the  thirtieth  part  of  the  human  race,  and 
their  fate  has  next  to  no  influence  upon  that  of  other  nations — 
even  the  European.  The  change  of  our  tariff  has  more  effect  in 
England  than  the  overthrow  of  our  constitution,  and  the  murder 
of  every  tenth  male  would  have.  Nations  grow  independently 
of  each  other  like  animals  or  trees, — and  die  independently. 
Only  epidemical  diseases  affect  the  groups,  as  tornadoes  or  floods 
do  in  the  vegetable  and  animal  world. 

It  is  with  philosophic  calmness  then  we  can  follow  the  course 
of  these  events,  after  all  the  excitement  of  the  spring  and  early 
summer.  Until  another  battle.  These  battles  will  rouse  the 
nation  like  successive  peals  of  thunder  following  each  other  at 
intervals  through  a  still  night; — now  far  off,  now  close  by.  Was 
there  ever  a  war  extended  over  so  vast  a  country?  The  tele- 
graph makes  it  awful,  for  it  brings  all  parts  of  the  field  into  imme- 
diate presence. 

We  ought  to  celebrate  annually  the  passage  of  the  Confisca- 
tion Act  of  Saturday.  It  is  the  date  of  the  Emancipation  of  Amer- 
ican Slaves.     It  will  work  slow,  but  sure,  I  hope. 

Man  is  certainly  nomadic  by  nature;  rooted  by  necessity; 
art  and  luxury  return  to  him  at  last  his  nomadic  privileges.  For 
my  part  I  have  been  so  privileged  in  past  years  that  I  have  no 
right  to  complain,  if  the  gout  or  bad  times  veto  my  roaming  pro- 
pensities forever  more, — until  gout  and  bad  times  are  among  the 
things  which  are  not.  But  bad  times  never  last,  and  in  a  few 
years  I  shall  be  able  to  take  you  and  Susan  up  the  Nile.  By 
waiting  until  then  the  Speke  controversy  about  its  source  will 
have  been  settled  for  us,  and  we  can  better  enjoy  its  muddy 
current.  Other  things  will  be  settled  also — in  the  muddy  current 
of  our  own  fortunes. 


402  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvii 

Philadelphia,  Sept.  23,  1861.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wipe. 

...  I  wonder  if  the  Eastern  politicians  are  not  chicaning  to 
ruin  Fremont — the  idol  of  the  West.  How  little  we  know  of  the 
Secrets  of  the  Cabinet;  of  the  hidden  forces  of  the  political  world; 
and  of  the  private  by-play  of  the  passions  throughout  the  great 
events  of  our  history!  Dominus  regnat,  populus  gaudeatf  Sat 
sapienti,  Susanna.     Et  Petro. 

Philadelphia,  Sept.  24,  1861.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Everybody  is  troubled  about  the  Lexington  surrender. 
MagoiiSn  is  a  hero.  But  they  say  he  was  ordered  to  take  the 
money  and  come  away.  Instead  of  that,  he  was  persuaded  by 
the  citizens  to  disobey  orders  and  stay  to  defend  them.  [W.  E.  F.] 
says  he  himself  will  go  to  the  war  if  another  defeat  occurs.  How 
the  young  can  joke  about  war  and  cannon-balls  is  a  mystery  to 
me, — for  life  ought  to  be  doubly  dear  to  them.  Joe  proposed 
to  me  to-day  to  take  the  whole  business,  and  let  him  go  join 
General  Anderson's  body-guard  dragoons  (100),  now  recruiting. 
It  is  to  be  composed  of  young  engineers  from  all  the  counties 
of  Pennsylvania.  He  has  been  sick  of  asthma,  etc.,  but  was  a 
little  better  to-day.  His  desire  to  go  is  simply  from  a  sense  of 
duty.  Kentucky  is  in  great  danger.  All  the  young  blood  of  the 
Blue  Grass  is  for  Secession.  They  constitute  the  wealth  and 
spirit  of  the  State — although  they  are  outnumbered  by  the  old 
people  and  the  Mountaineers.  Both  parties  are  fearfully  exas- 
perated, and  it  looks  more  like  a  war  of  extermination  there  than 
it  has  vet  anywhere.  But  God  and  the  Right  is  our  motto. 
Surely  the  government  will  be  forced  to  fight  upon  a  principle 
before  long.  .  .  . 

Algonac,  Sept.  25,  1861.     Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Truly  it  does  seem  as  you  say,  as  if  the  Eastern  politi- 
cians are  determined  to  ruin  Fremont.  And  yet  what  mean 
all  these  tales  of  his  neglecting  to  reinforce  the  brave  Lyon,  and 
also  Mulligan,  when  he  might?  And  who  is  to  know  the  truth 
about  anything  in  the  midst  of  so  many  Hes,  so  many  wheels 
within  wiieels,  and  so  much  that  we  can  never  know  not  being 
behind  the  scenes?  And  what  means  the  forced  resignation  of 
Stringham?  Are  the  Government  determined  to  punish  every- 
body who  achieves  a  victory,  for  fear  they  should  become  too 
popular?     It  looks  so.  .  .  . 

Yesterday  we  went  down  to  the  H.  K.  Browns,  to  tea,  and 


i86i  WAR  TIMES  403 

had  a  lovely  time.  Mr.  Brown  showed  us  all  his  drawings  and 
designs  of  the  Capitol  at  Columbia,*  and,  oh,  how  we  laughed  to 
think  that  the  stupid  Southerners  never  dreamed  of  the  intense 
satire  conveyed  in  his  figures  of  Hope,  Justice,  and  Liberty, 
where  he  introduces  negroes,  cotton  fields  and  rice  plantations, 
in  the  slyest  and  most  picturesque  way,  and  to  a  Northern  eye 
so  plain,  that  he  who  runs  may  read!  He  said  he  could  hardly 
keep  his  countenance,  when  one  after  another  of  the  Southern 
gentlemen  came  in  to  look  at  his  work,  they  chuckled  and  said, 
"That's  right,  Brovm,  put  in  the  nigger,  put  in  the  nigger."  .  .  . 

Phu-adelphia,  OcL  4,  1861.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wipe. 

.  .  .  Last  night,  9.30  p.m.,  I  reached  home  from  Washington, 
to  which  place  I  went  down  the  night  before.  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  the  quiet  and  the  war  scenes  together  impressed  me — till 
we  meet.  Breakfasted  with  James  and  Lizzie  [Lesley],  the  boys. 
Dr.  Thompson  and  Colonel  T.  A.  Scott.  Wrote  two  hours  in 
Scott's  room  in  the  War  Department,  and  then  surveyed  the 
deserted  Potomac  from  the  top  of  Willard's.  The  advance  of 
the  Army  has  caused  it  to  disappear  from  view  behind  the  Vir- 
ginia hills.  The  Capitol  is  infinitely  grand.  Mills'  statue  of 
Jackson  looks  much  better  at  a  second  visit.  General  Cameron 
was  to  dine  with  James,  but  I  could  not  stay.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Oct.  7,  1861.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  but  a  moment  to  add  a  line  to  the  Sonnets  I  v^nrote 
yesterday,  and  if  you  like  parts  of  them  as  much  as  I  do,  you 
can  hand  them  to  Estes  for  the  Atlantic. 

I  spent  a  very  long,  brilliant  evening  at  Frazer's  vsdth  M. 
Pecher  of  the  Patent  Office,  and  as  fond  as  I  of  Egyptological 
questions.  He  is  an  amiable,  accomplished  German,  fifty  yards 
from  whom  (strange  to  say)  I  lived  in  Halle  in  1844-1845.  We 
had  a  high  time  over  Halloren  gossip. 

*  Henry  K.  Brown  the  sculptor's  "work  on  the  capitol  at  Columbia, 
S.C.,  was  never  finished  or  paid  for.  In  April,  1861,  the  firing  on  Fort 
Sumter  opened  the  war,  and  soon  after  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  came  north 
and  were  on  the  last  train  before  the  tracks  into  Washington  were  torn  up. 
When  Sherman  arrived  before  Columbia,  some  years  later,  and  opened  a 
bombardment  on  the  city,  some  of  the  first  shells  crashed  through  Mr. 
Brown's  studio,  which  was  beside  the  old  capitol.  Everything  was  de- 
stroyed, and  a  photograph  is  all  there  is  left  of  the  group  showing  'niggers' 
for  the  capitol.  It  was  a  group  tympanum,  the  central  figures  were  fin- 
ished in  marble,  and  the  rest  were  in  various  stages  of  completion."  {Note 
by  Henry  K.  Bush-Brown.) 


404  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xvn 

Phil'a,  October  8,  1861. 

.  .  .  Now  the  leaves  begin  to  fall,  and  the  army  must  soon 
move.  I  wish  I  could  see  the  great  review  of  Cavalry  and  Ar- 
tillery to-morrow  at  Washington. 

Philadelphia,  Dec.  24,  1861.     Peter  Lesley  to 
Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  Susan  and  I  have  just  filled  the  children's  stockings  with 
little  acrobats,  sugar  plums,  books,  lead-pencils  and  pennies, 
and  have  two  large  dolls  to  pile  up  the  agony,  still  in  reserve.  .  .  . 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bond  have  just  come  in  and  say  that  Chestnut  St. 
is  crowded  and  loud  with  horns  and  drums.  People  in  masks 
and  Santa  Claus  dresses  are  numerous.  This  is  new  in  Phila- 
delphia, and  shows  how  the  war  excitement  has  affected  the 
public  mind,  developing  other  extravagances.  We  are  in  a 
fever  of  excitement,  not  knowing  what  to  expect.  There  are 
vain  conjectures  on  all  hands.  No  one  can  predict  even  the 
probabilities.  England  seems  to  be  in  a  blaze  of  excitement 
also.  Want  and  war  are  foes  to  sober  sense  and  prudent  con- 
duct. If  war  breaks  out  with  Europe,  the  extremity  of  evil  will 
soon  be  reached.  But  our  hope  is  that  the  men  at  Washington 
feel  so  much  more  in  danger  than  we  do  here,  that  they  will  go 
even  further  than  we  would  do  in  pacifying  England.  It  is  no  time 
now  for  us  to  stand  on  dignity.  Nor  do  I  think  our  government 
will  think  of  such  a  thing.  But  this  is  a  Christmas  letter,  and 
I  meant  not  to  make  it  a  political  essay.  ... 


In  February,  1862,  he  was  invited  by  Mr.  T.  E.  Black- 
well,  of  Montreal,  to  go  north,  to  assist  him  in  some  geological 
or  topographical  work. 

Troy,  Feb.  20,  1862.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Here  I  sit  in  the  Troy  House,  which  we  were  talking  about 
the  other  day,  where  we  spent  a  night  thirteen  years  ago,  on  our 
wedding  tour  to  Amsterdam. 

.  .  .  We  had  a  great  deal  of  Seceshish  talk  in  the  cars,  good- 
humored  enough,  but  plain  to  see,  the  vast  preponderance  of 
sentiment  is  in  favor  of  readjustment  on  the  old  basis,  provided 
the  Southern  bluster  is  stopped.  People  think  only  of  their  own 
little  feelings,  and  forget  (how  is  it  possible!)  the  immense  wrongs 
of  the  Slaves  and  Poor  Whites  of  the  South.  .  .  . 


i862  WAR  TIMES  405 

Rutland,  Feb.  21,  1862.    To  his  Wife. 

How  I  wish  Mamie  and  you  had  been  in  the  cars  with  me 
yesterday!  After  advancing  forty  miles,  we  stuck  fast  on  a  siding 
for  three  hours  after  dark.  For  the  first  half-hour  we  were  silent 
and  a  little  moody;  but  then  the  stiffness  was  broken  by  the 
eccentricities  of  an  old  lady  who  got  up  and  walked  to  the  door 
several  times,  and  losing  patience  began  to  demand  that  some- 
thing should  be  done;  at  least  that  there  should  be  a  consultation 
to  see  if  nothing  could  be  done  about  it,  for  she  was  open  to 
conviction.  Gently  rallied  at  first,  she  replied  with  spirit,  and 
soon  the  fun  grew  brisk  and  the  wit  sparkling.  Most  of  the 
people  in  the  car  were  the  best  kind  of  New  England  folks, 
with  plenty  of  spunk,  and  hair-riggers  every  son  of  a  gun  among 
them.  We  sat  and  joked  and  roared  and  clapped,  and  dis- 
cussed the  conductor,  the  brakeman,  the  old  lady's  adventure, 
the  possibility  of  some  Secesh  being  present,  and  at  the  bottom 
of  it,  the  war  and  the  weather  at  large.  I  never  enjoyed  three 
hours  more.  .  .  . 

...  It  is  delightful  to  think  of  the  near  approach  of  a  vic- 
torious peace.  I  trust  in  God  that  a  new  cohort  of  strong  men  will 
take  the  power  at  Washington,  and  reform  all  things.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  hope  and  pray  for.  When  I  stand  on  these  whitened 
hills  of  Vermont,  and  look  down  the  great  line  of  Empires  stretch- 
ing to  the  gulf,  and  think  that  summer  already  reigns  at  the  far 
end, — how  varied  have  been  the  fates!  how  various  are  the 
powers  and  uses  of  the  United  States!  how  complicated  must 
always  be  their  common  political  economy!  how  conservative  and 
calm  must  be  the  central  governor!  I  am  reminded  of  the  Chariot 
and  horses  of  the  Sun,  on  St.  Mark's  Column  [cathedral?]  at 
Venice,  and  on  the  Arc  de  la  Place  du  Carrousel  at  Paris, — a 
fiery  divergent  team. — I  am  struck  with  the  almost  religious 
faith  in  Lincoln's  honesty,  energy  and  wisdom,  which  has  taken 
hold  of  men's  minds.  There  is  but  the  one  thing  said: — No 
other  could  have  saved  the  Country!  This  is  extravagant;  but 
worthy  of  consideration.  He  must  be  a  worthy  man  who  im- 
presses a  whole  nation  thus. 

Here  I  am  among  the  Taconic  hills,  and  can  see  nothing. 
It  is  vexatious.  A  geologist  in  four  feet  of  snow  is  a  somnam- 
bulisr  with  eyes  open  seeing  nothing.  How  I  long  to  map  this 
country  properly!  I  am  sure  that  I  could  map  Vermont  in  one 
season,  and  Massachusetts  in  another. 

...  I  must  go  now  and  try  to  find  some  geologist  in  Rutland 
to  talk  to,  and  see,  if  I  can,  some  of  the  Taconic  fossils. 


4o6  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xvn 

Montreal,  Feh.  24,  '62. 

After  a  morning  spent  with  Sir  William  [Dawson]  (who  asked 
of  his  own  accord  in  the  midst  of  a  geological  discussion,  after 
you,  and  whether  you  had  not  come  along  with  me),  and  Sterry 
Hunt,  over  the  maps,  and  documents,  and  specimens,  of  the 
Taconic  System,  in  the  great  Cabinet;  and  after  a  tremendous 
buffeting  walk  through  a  blinding  sleety  snow-storm  back;  I 
sit  down  between  dressing  for  dinner  and  the  dinner  bell  at  two 
o'clock  to  continue  the  letter  which  I  failed  to  put  in  the  Post- 
office  this  morning. 

Sunday  morning  they  took  me  to  the  Cathedral.  .  .  .  The 
first  pew  was  filled  by  Sir  Fen  wick  Williams  (Hero  of  Kars), 
Commander-in-Chief  in  Canada,  a  bald-headed,  fine-looking  man, 
wrapped  in  a  great-coat;  his  aid,  Captain  Grant;  another  gen- 
eral whom  I  forget;  and  Colonel  Wetherell.  Beauty  and  wealth 
filled  the  church.  You  never  saw  such  cunning  little  round  caps 
of  fur  as  the  girls  wear,  with  nets  for  the  hair  behind,  and  face 
or  eye  veils  in  front.  And  the  music — I  mean  the  responses, 
especially  from  the  dhildren  in  the  chancel,  was  lovely.  I  en- 
joyed every  moment.  On  my  way  back  Mr.  Gurdwood,  Assistant 
Surgeon  in  one  of  the  regiments,  and  young  Stevenson,  whom 
you  recollect,  persuaded  me  to  return  to  the  Cathedral  to  see  the 
parade  of  the  Fusileers  and  Guards  (parts  of  two  regiments) 
into  the  Cathedral,  for  their  own  especial  service  at  1.30  o'clock. 
I  stood  beside  as  they  filed  into  the  Church,  and  saw  them  with 
great  emotion.  They  were  all  apparently  picked  men,  although 
I  have  since  been  told  that  they  were  not;  tall,  stout,  firm,  steady, 
plucky  men,  most  of  the  Guard  looking  like  workingmen,  or  rather 
as  if  they  belonged  to  the  class  of  English  footmen;  their  ser- 
geants, sons  of  the  nobility,  and  their  other  officers  men  of  high 
rank;  Lord  Fred.  Pawlet,  of  distinguished  fame,  their  brigade 
major.  These  Guards  are  the  nobility  of  the  English  army, 
their  Captains  ranking  as  high,  I  believe,  as  the  Colonels  of  the 
other  regiments  (of  the  line).  The  Fusileers  are  a  Scotch  regi- 
ment of  the  same  grand  size, — no  man  accepted  under  six  feet. 
I  saw  one  man  who  must  have  been  nearly  seven  feet.  Many 
of  them  being  Presbyterians,  were  marching  to  a  meeting-house, 
while  these  came  to  the  Cathedral.  The  Fusileers  looked  in  the 
face  better — I  mean  as  if  they  were  educated — which  none  of 
the  Guards  did.  But  compare  even  the  Fusileers  with  a  Mas- 
sachusetts regiment,  and  you  see  at  once  the  superiority  of  the 
latter,  as  gentlemen  and  men  of  mind.  But  in  physique,  and 
bulldog  courage,  and   dogged  resolve  to  die  for  the  Queen  and 


i862  WAR  TIMES  407 

their  flag, — God  save  us  from  an  avalanche  of  these  dreadful 
troops  upon  our  soil!  Yet  all  Canada  is  now  in  the  same  whirl 
of  excitement,  in  anticipation  of  a  war  with  us,  that  we  were  this 
time  last  year,  or  a  httle  later.  They  all  think  war  inevitable. 
Every  man  is  drilling;  the  whole  volunteer  force,  or  rather  militia 
of  the  Provinces,  is  under  arms;  and  they  accuse  us  of  having 
sent  over  surveyors,  to  map  the  strategic  points  along  the  St. 
Lawrence,  and  the  Lakes,  which  has  greatly  exasperated  them. 
I  find  a  much  more  quiet  feeling  toward  the  North, — much  less 
sympathy  with  the  South,  than  I  anticipated.  The  victories 
have  done  wonders.  We  must  remember,  too,  that  these  same 
terrible  Roman-like  troops  of  England  followed  blindly  their 
blind  leaders  into  the  net  at  Saratoga,  and  Yorktown,  and  were 
repulsed  before  New  Orleans,  as  before  the  Redan.  By  the 
way,  last  evening  Colonel  Conolly  took  tea  with  us: — he  was 
in  that  awful  charge  of  Balaklava,  and  told  us  that  every  twenty- 
ninth  of  October  (?)  the  survivors  meet  in  London  to  dine,  and 
drink  only  two  toasts, — the  Queen,  and  the  lost  in  the  charge. 
Neither  he,  nor  any  one  else  who  has  been  in  the  charge,  will 
speak  of  it  except  in  a  distant  way  in  connection  with  other  sub- 
jects. 

Montreal,  Feb.  2'jth,  1862. 

The  Bishop's  party  was  last  evening,  a  grand  affair  (to  me). 
He  is  Archbishop  of  the  Provinces.  I  was  the  last  person  to 
leave  the  room,  and  talking  with  him  a  few  minutes,  in  a  little 
group  round  some  flowers  in  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  he  pulled 
an  English  primrose,  and  gave  it  to  me  for  you.  Here  it  is; 
badly  crushed,  I  am  sorry  to  say;  but  receive  it  direct  from  apos- 
tolic metropolitan  hands.  The  hall  was  a  trussed-ceiling  hall, 
with  the  entrance  from  the  narrow  staircase  hall  on  the  middle 
of  one  side,  and  to  the  other  rooms,  and  great  staircase  on  the 
other.  A  table  ran  down  the  middle;  library  cases  occupied  the 
sides,  an  aquarium  and  air-tight  flora  box  to  one  end,  and  a 
gorgeous  west  end  window  the  other.  Soon  after  we  arrived, 
and  were  announced  by  name,  and  received  by  the  Bishop,  and 
his  little  old  wife  (without  a  sign  of  hoops),  the  place  began  to 
crowd  up  with  young  ladies,  in  vast  gauze  flounces,  and  low-neck 
dresses;  ugly  and  coarse,  old  and  elderly  ladies,  spruce,  good- 
looking,  unintellectual  clergy  and  bar,  and  a  score  or  two  of 
scarlet  uniforms  elegantly  pointed,  barred  and  edged  with  gold 
lace,  and  in  some  few  cases  fronted  with  decorating.  One  old 
general  I  saw  with  a  row  of  decorations,  beginning  with  the 


4o8  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvii 

Peninsular  and  Waterloo,  and  ending  with  China,  Sebastopol  and 
the  Mezjid,  which  dangled  forward  in  a  sort  of  tattered  curtain,  as 
he  bent  to  look  at  the  foot  of  a  fly,  in  the  magnificent  microscope 
of  Mr.  Blackwell,  which  Mr.  King  (with  whom  I  drive  to  see 
the  deflection  of  the  Bridge  to-day)  exhibited  to  guests,  seeking 
relief  from  the  press  and  heat,  in  a  little  room  opposite  the  re- 
freshment rooms.  Among  others  who  came,  there  was  the  fat 
old  Dean,  whom  I  could  not  seduce  into  conversation;  and  the 
P.  M.  O.  (Principal  Medical  Officer, — our  Brigade  Surgeon,  or 
Staff  Surgeon  I  suppose)  Taylor,  whom  I  found  to  my  delight 
an  ardent  friend  of  our  Side.  I  had  an  animated  talk  with  Adj't 
Gen.  Colonel  McKenzie,  who  is  just  arrived  with  the  fresh  troops, 
to  teach  us  courtesy  and  submission  perhaps  to  her  Majesty 
the  Queen,  which  conversation  is  to  be  shortly  renewed  under 
more  favorable  circumstances,  when  I  will  enlighten  him  further. 
In  fact,  I  have  had  excited  an  ardent  desire  to  give  a  lecture  to 
these  military  gentlemen,  and  may  yet  do  so,  when  I  have  com- 
pleted the  great  map  of  the  United  States,  which  I  commence 
to-day.  You  will  have  few  and  short  letters  from  me  hereafter, 
I  fear,  because  my  only  time  is  before  breakfast.  All  the  rest 
of  the  day  I  am  talking,  or  examining  documents,  or  sleighing 
to  some  point  of  interest. 

'.  ,  .  You  have  no  idea  how  I  enjoyed  last  evening.  A  journey 
to  Vesuvius  would  not  have  afforded  me  more  curious  pleasure. 
But  I  must  go  further  back,  for  I  left  off  my  narrative  on  Mon- 
day. You  had  (I  see)  a  terrific  gale  on  Saturday  and  Sunday. 
It  reached  us  on  Monday,  with  a  deadly  cold.  I  spent  the  morn- 
ing with  Sir  William  Logan  and  Hunt  in  the  museum,  and  the 
evening  with  two  friends  at  home,  not  being  able  to  take  the 
ladies  to  Miss  Lunn's  "Blue"  or  soiree,  where  a  little  lecture  is 
part  of  the  programme. 

Tuesday  morning,  we  drove  in  the  fierce  arctic  wind  to  the 
shops  at  St.  Charles  Point,  where  the  roofs  were  covered  with 
icicles  bent  by  the  wind.  There  we  saw  the  great  twenty-five 
by  fifteen  foot  map,  making,  on  the  floor  of  the  upper  room  at 
one  end  of  the  great  car-shop,  by  Mr.  Plunket. 

At  dinner-time,  Jos.  Savage  called  on  me,  and  at  tea  Mrs. 
Dawson  came;  afterwards  Sir  William  Logan,  Hunt  and  Dr. 
Dawson  himself,  and  we  talked  until  midnight. 

Wednesday,  we  went  to  the  office  on  the  Main  Street  in  the 
city  to  see  what  room  I  can  occupy,  to  work  in;  and  wrote  long 
letters  to  various  parties  in  Washington,  on  business.  Spent  the 
evening  as  I  have  described  at  the  Bishop's. 


i862  WAR  TIMES  409 

We  are  just  starting  for  the  Victoria  Bridge,  to  study  the 
effect  of  the  sunlight  on  its  sides,  and  this  evening  I  tea  with 
Dawson  and  see  his  collection. 

Saturday  we  have  Dr.  Muir,  and  Sir  William,  and  to-morrow 
perhaps,  or  next  Monday,  Lord  Pawlet  and  his  aide  Captain 
Seymour. 

So  it  goes.  My  health  is  very  good.  I  take  long  walks  in  the 
snow.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Feb.  28,  1862.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Mr.  Bliss  told  me  that  Government  have  taken  since 
yesterday  all  the  steamers  great  and  small  between  New  York, 
here  and  Baltimore.  Newspapers  are  forbidden  to  publish  any 
War  news,  and  things  look  like  a  great  time  of  some  sort.  Mr. 
Sumner  writes  James  Furness  that  our  late  victories  have  put 
back  the  Anti-slavery  cause.  Mr.  Bliss  says  if  the  War  comes 
to  an  end  without  advancing  Emancipation,  the  Anti-slavery 
agitation  will  be  such  as  the  Country  never  dreamed  of,  for  hun- 
dreds and  thousands  of  men  like  himself  who  have  always  kept 
quiet,  will  then  be  worse  than  the  most  rabid  AboHtionists.  How 
strange  are  the  chances  of  War!  .  .  . 

Montreal,  March  16,  1862.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Things  go  on  as  usual  here.  I  am  very  much  worn  out 
with  my  huge  map,  although  it  is  beautiful  and  every  one  delighted. 
Of  course  I  see  a  great  many  errors  and  faults  in  it  which  others 
do  not  suspect.  But  all  these  will  correct  themselves  in  time. 
To-morrow  I  begin  to  lay  on  colors.  .  .  . 

I  am  surrounded  here  with  magnificence  and  luxury;  curios- 
ities and  rarities,  instruments,  cabinets;  each  room  a  gallery 
of  precious  works  of  art,  water-colors  and  engravings,  bronzes 
and  parian  statuettes;  but — I  want  none  of  them;  I  am  satisfied 
with  our  future  prospects  of  a  single  room  and  our  four  selves.  .  .  . 
There  may  be  infinite  opportunities,  means  and  desires;  but  the 
performance  amounts  to  next  to  nothing.  I  have  had  a  glimpse 
of  the  EngHsh  nobiHty; — it  is  on  the  whole  no  more  attractive  than 
the  professional,  the  mercantile,  or  the  mechanic  worlds;  less  so 
in  one  important  and  ruling  sense;  it  is  dolce  far  niente — labo- 
rious pleasure,  accomplishing  nothing  worthy  of  remembrance  or 
record.  Inutility  characterizes  all  that  I  have  seen  here.  The 
grand  military  immigration  is  a  step  forward  for  no  purpose  but 
to  be  taken  back  again.     The  Grand  Trunk  is  a  "job"  to  enrich 


41  o  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvn 

the  over-rich;  and  could  hardly  have  been  a  worse  planned  or 
worse  executed  enterprise.  But  for  its  right  arm,  the  Portland 
branch,  it  would  be  a  dead  body.  The  whole  population  of 
English  residents  here  seem  to  me  to  be  loafers,  fed  by  a  sort  of 
aristocratic  poor-law  system.  Young  men  (all  of  them,  whom 
I  have  seen)  do  their  work  in  the  most  slovenly,  awkward,  slow 
and  protestant  manner, — as  if  it  was  a  great  mistake  that  they, 
and  not  others,  had  been  set  at  the  work.  Play  here  is  as  ruling 
a  passion  as  work  is  in  the  States.  Our  military  arrangements 
and  undertakings  and  performances  are,  I  think,  far  in  advance 
of  anything  of  which  England  is  now  capable.  Certainly  our 
Civil  inventions  and  executions  overwhelm  hers  with  shame — 
I  speak  soberly.  I  used  to  think  English  mechanic  art  supreme; 
I  do  not  think  so  now.  I  go  back  to  the  States  with  my  patriot- 
ism intensified  and  enlightened  in  more  than  one  point. 

Brooklyn,  May  5,  1862.    Susan  Lesley  to  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  I  have  read  the  May  Atlantic  through,  and  admire  the 
"Hindrance,"  which  I  suppose  is  Mr.  Emerson's,  and  was  much 
pleased  with  the  Slavery  article. — Is  not  that  Higginson's?  Mr. 
Hodge  brought  me  to-day  a  long  and  very  interesting  letter  to 
read,  from  Dana  Greene, — First  Lieutenant  on  the  Monitor, 
describing  the  whole  action.  .  .  . 

Sunday  Evening,  May  18,  1862,    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  cannot  go  to  sleep  without  sending  you  my  blessing  and 
my  congratulations  on  the  wonderful  news  of  the  fall  of  Norfolk 
and  Portsmouth,  the  recovery  of  the  Navy  Yard,  the  destruction 
of  the  dreaded  Merrimac,  the  victory  of  Foote's  flotilla  over  the 
rebel  fleet  at  Fort  Wright,  and  the  imminent  capitulations  of  the 
two  rebel  armies.  How  wonderful  is  this  rush  of  the  drama  to  its 
finale!  It  all  sounds  like  a  fiction.  Wars  used  to  be  waged  by 
Commanders  for  their  amusement,  or  for  their  private  interest. 
This  war  is  the  earnest  effort  of  a  nation  to  save  itself.  It  seems 
more  like  the  combined  effort  of  the  faculties  of  the  human  body 
to  conquer  and  throw  off  a  disease  at  the  crisis — than  like  anything 
else  in  history.  McClellan  will  now  indeed  be  the  hero  of  the 
day.  He  will  replace  WeUington.  We  must  despair  of  nothing. 
Let  us  not  croak  about  the  war  coming  too  rapidly  to  an  end. 
God  will  know  how  to  complete  the  work.  Let  us  have  a  re- 
newed faith  in  providence.  Let  us  rejoice  without  cavilling.  A 
generation  of  strong  and  honest  men  have  been  born  to  us  in 


i862  WAR  TIMES 


411 


the  last  year,  and  in  their  hands,  slavery  will  find  no  favor. 
The  whole  nation  has  received  eyesight  and  hearing,  and  it  will 
be  hard  for  the  worn-out  Democratic  partisan  leaders  to  make 
their  old  arts  succeed,  in  the  new  times  on  which  we  enter.  The 
black  men  may  not  get  all  their  rights  immediately;  but  let  us 
hope  that  they  will  get  them  as  fast  as  they  can  find  opportu- 
nity for  exercising  them.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  May  20,  1862.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  The  President  has  repudiated  Hunter's  proclamation.* 
And  yet  how  touching  are  the  good  man's  words!  He  seems 
to  me  like  one  from  another  world,  so  pure  and  true, — in  spite 
of  the  ten-acre  lot.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  May  27,  1862.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  The  excitement  here  upon  Banks'  defeat  reminds  me 
of  this  time  last  year.  The  passage  of  the  Confiscation  bill,  the 
close  vote  and  defeat  of  the  Emancipation  bill,  the  uncertain 
condition  of  all  our  armies,  the  coming  of  the  great  man,  Sigel, 
to  headquarters,  the  call  for  200,000  Volunteers,  the  mobbing 
of  Secesh  men  in  Maryland,  make  together  a  din  in  which  one's 
soul  can't  hear  itself  speak.  All  business  was  abandoned  yester- 
day. But  I  have  confidence  that  order  will  come  out  of  this 
confusion.  .  .  . 

In  June,  1862,  he  again  v^ent  north  on  a  surveying 
trip  to  the  coast  of  Cape  Breton  at  Glass  Bay,  and  he  spent 
about  two  months  in  those  bleak  solitudes. 

*  In  May,  1862,  General  David  Hunter,  whom  Lincoln  had  recently 
appointed  to  command  the  Department  of  the  South,  "issued  an  order  of 
Military  emancipation."  .  .  .  This  order  declared  "Slavery  and  Martial 
law  in  a  free  country  are  altogether  incompatible.  The  persons  in  these 
three  States — Georgia,  Florida,  and  South  Carolina — heretofore  held  as 
slaves  are  therefore  declared  forever  free." 

The  President  did  not  receive  news  of  this  order  for  a  week.  "Lin- 
coln's own  judgment  of  the  act  was  definite  and  prompt.  'No  command- 
ing general  shall  do  such  a  thing.'" 

"Three  days  later  (May  19th,  1862)  the  President  published  a  procla- 
mation reciting  that  the  Government  had  no  knowledge  or  part  in  the  issu- 
ing of  Hunter's  orders  of  emancipation,  that  neither  Hunter  nor  any  other 
person  had  been  authorized  to  declare  free  the  slaves  of  any  State,  and  that 
his  order  in  that  respect  was  altogether  void."  .  .  .  {From  Abraham  Lin- 
coln, a  History,  Nicolay  and  Hay,  vol.  vi.  pp.  90-96.) 


412  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvii 

Sydney,  N.S.,  June  29,  1862.     To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Our  whole  voyage  has  far  surpassed  my  worst  expecta- 
tions. .  .  .  My  accommodations  for  the  next  three  weeks  will  be  no 
doubt  as  bad  as  possible.  .  .  .  The  ship  was  full,  but  Estes  [Howe] 
and  I  had  a  state-room.  At  the  next  table  were  plenty  of  raging 
French  exiles  from  the  intolerable  despotism  of  General  Butler, 
at  New  Orleans.  I  pitied  them,  for  they  said  it  was  the  first  day 
since  "The  Occupation"  that  they  had  dared  to  wag  their  tongues. 
...  At  Halifax  we  had  two  hours,  and  went  all  over  the  fine 
fortification  on  the  hill  above  the  parliament  building,  and  round 
the  town.  It  is  a  stone  citadel  of  great  extent,  with  lunette  forts 
outside,  and  commands  a  great  plain  back  of  the  city.  In  the 
Senate  or  Council  Chamber,  I  saw  portraits  of  the  Georges,  and 
of  the  Judges — Haliburton,  etc., — and  old  Winthrop  of  Massa- 
chusetts. The  Harbor  is  magnificent,  and  seems  to  me  finer 
than  that  of  New  York.  But  who  would  live  in  such  a  dead-and- 
alive  village,  on  such  an  inhospitable  coast? 

The  life  at  "Little  Glass  Bay"  was  hard  and  bare,  with 
rough  lodging  and  scanty  food,  but  the  letters  show  that 
my  father  enjoyed  the  place  and  the  work.  I  quote  only 
small  portions  of  these  letters. 

Little  Glass  Bay,  neae.  Sydney,  July  9,  1862. 
Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  In  the  morning  we  attended  the  Scotch  Church  ...  A 
hard-featured  congregation  remained  to  hear  a  second  sermon, — 
in  Gaelic,  or  the  native  Highland  Scotch.  I  was  too  tired  to  stop 
to  listen;  in  fact,  I  know  but  two  or  three  Gaelic  words,  one  of 
which  is  uiske,  which  means  water.  This  island  of  Cape  Breton, 
of  which  Sydney  was  the  capital,  was  chiefly  settled  by  the  High- 
land Scotch,  and  we  have  in  the  Company's  employ  three  Roder- 
ick Dhus.  Two  miles  south  of  us  lives  Donald  McDonald;  and 
among  the  hands  may  be  found  various  members  of  the  Clans, 
McPherson,  Mclntyre,  McEachran  and  McPhail;  with  here  and 
there  a  border  name,  such  as  Campbell;  but  not  a  Graham  nor 
Murray  nor  Lesley  to  be  heard  of,  for  these  belong  to  the  lowlands. 
The  long  parallel  peninsulas,  v^dth  fiords  or  friths  between,  and 
islands  at  their  ends;  the  high  mountains  and  indented  shores; 
the  sea  fogs  and  fisheries,  all  combine  to  make  the  Scotch  High- 
lander feel  himself  at  home  here;  and  thus  we  have  another  fine 
illustration  of  the  law  according  to  which  species  creep  along 


i862  WAR  TIMES  413 

natural  zones  of  the  earth's  surface,  and  plant  themselves  at  a 
distance,  only  when  all  their  new  circumstances  resemble  the 
old. 

Last  evening  I  walked  in  the  moonlight  along  the  shore,  before 
going  to  bed,  and  never  felt  so  perfectly  happy  and  peaceful  in 
the  contemplation  of  nature.  The  immense  expanse  of  waters 
and  skies;  the  never-ceasing  waves  beating  on  the  shores;  the 
round,  bright,  silent,  cheery,  beneficent  moon,  preceding  the  tides 
and  magnetizing  every  vein  of  life  in  our  planet;  the  exquisite 
simple  reflection  of  it  in  the  unstirred  bay,  and  the  sparkling  trail 
of  light  and  delicate  striation  crosswise  of  the  image,  when  a  sigh 
of  wind  crept  across  its  face;  the  tall  and  silent  machinery,  brood- 
ing, sleeping  over  the  begun  work;  the  silent  workshops  and 
forges  on  the  bank;  the  great  half-finished  scows  on  their  beds, 
looking  like  sick  men  who  have  dozed  away  after  long  protracted 
pains,  pounded  as  they  are  by  the  caulkers  and  carpenters  all 
day;  the  far-off  ships  at  anchor  in  the  roads,  waiting  for  the  coal 
lighters  to  come  again  to-morrow;  and  the  backwoods  of  the  in- 
land, a  multitudinous  race,  harboring  untold  life,  of  bugs  and  flies 
and  larger  creatures,  all  asleep.  .  .  . 

AIJ.  other  topics  and  events  [except  the  War]  seem  insignificant. 
I  can  see  clearly  no  end  to  this  history.  Europe  stands  appalled 
and  horror-struck  at  the  desperation,  size  and  ruin  of  the  con- 
flict. All  other  emotions  seem  swallowed  up  in  one — a  dread 
amazement.  .  .  . 

Saturday,  July  18. 

More  news  to-day  makes  me  so  sad  and  anxious,  so  heart-sick 
about  the  country,  that  I  can  hardly  remain  here.  .  .  . 

Jamaica  Plain,  July  22,  1862.    Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  HER  Husband. 

.  .  .  The  state  of  the  country  at  this  time  keeps  all  serious 
persons  anxious  and  earnest.  Most  thoughtful  people  have  utterly 
lost  faith  in  McClellan  as  a  General,  and  the  late  developments 
of  Mr.  Chandler  of  Michigan  in  Congress  prove  him  to  have  been 
a  blunderer  and  a  bungler  from  the  beginning.  The  President's 
last  address  to  the  border  states  men  is  a  fine  statement  of  some 
of  his  difficulties.  I  have  cut  it  out  and  send  it,  thinking  you  may 
not  see  it.  The  complications  of  the  War  grow  more  and  more 
difficult  to  meet  and  solve,  and  bad  as  McClellan  is,  who  is 
there  to  take  his  place?  .  .  . 


414  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvii 

Aug.  12,  1862.    To  HER  Husband. 

.  .  ,  We  are  saddened  to-day  by  news  of  the  fearful  attack  on 
Banks'  division  and  the  probable  loss  of  so  many  we  know.  James 
Savage  left  dying  on  the  battlefield,  and  Gary,  Quincy,  and  so 
many  fine  young  men  of  Boston,  either  wounded  or  missing. 
And  to  think  of  Port  Royal  and  our  young  people  there,*  and  the 
poor  negroes  who  have  kept  saying  so  touchingly  to  their  teachers, 
"Too  good  to  last,  Massa,  too  good  to  last."  Think  of  their  being 
in  danger  of  attack,  and  not  half  protected.  God  help  our  be- 
loved country!    How  dark  everything  looks!  .  .  . 

Phh-adelphia,  Sept.  3,  1862.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  This  morning's  news  are  somewhat  better,  but  brave 
Kearney  is  gone.  How  flat  and  profitless  all  the  common  doings 
of  life  seem  at  such  a  time!  But  I  believe  in  the  overruling  hand; 
that  it  will  redress  our  wrongs  slowly  and  surely,  and  bring  order 
out  of  confusion  and  a  new  and  lasting  peace  out  of  this  wicked 
war.  The  excitement  on  McClellan's  behalf  was  intense  on  Mon- 
day, several  men  being  mobbed  and  beaten  for  pronouncing  him 
(what  I  believe  him  to  be)  a  traitor.  It  is  dangerous  here  to  say 
so  in  the  street.  The  Ingersoll  traitors  manufacture  this ''' demo- 
cratic" sentiment  in  his  favor,  to  thwart  the  government. 

Jamaica  Plain,  Sept.  5,  1862.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Pray  do  not  consider  McClellan  a  traitor.  Think  only 
how  much  he  would  lose  by  being  one,  and  gain  nothing.  Think 
too  how  everything  shows  simply  shiftlessness  and  incompetency, 
gross  crimes  it  is  true  in  times  like  these,  but  still  not  treachery. 
Please  don't  think  that,  I  beg  of  you.  .  .  . 

Sept.  8,  1862.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  The  political  news  are  not  discouraging.  The  rebellion 
only  seems  to  prosper.  It  is  the  last  blowing  and  beating  of  the 
air  of  a  gladiator  bleeding  to  death.  If  the  Lord  send  us  a  few 
days'  rain  to  swell  the  Potomac,  we  will  catch  them  all.  In  any 
case,  they  cannot  penetrate  far  north.  The  invasion  will  only 
rouse  the  North.  We  have  got  rid  of  McDowell  and  Pope  is  sent 
to  St.  Louis.  Heintzelman  and  Reno  are  A  No.  i,  and  Sigel  will 
be  the  next  to  try. 

*  See  "Letters  from  Port  Royal,  written  at  the  time  of  the  Civil  War. 
Edited  by  Elizabeth  Ware  Pearson.    Boston:  W.  B,  Clarke  Company,  1906." 


i862  WAR  TIMES 


415 


Philadelphia,  Sept.  10,  1862.     To  his  Wlfe. 

...  I  heard  my  friend  Harned  repeat  this  morning  conversa- 
tions with  Heintzelman,  greatly  to  McClellan's  credit,  and  Pope's 
disadvantage.  He  says  McDowell  would  have  died  to  retrieve 
Bull  Run,  but  followed  Pope's  orders  and  so  incurred  the  wrath 
of  the  soldiers.  Heintzelman  avers  he  saw  Pope's  o^vn  troops 
march  and  countermarch  twice  across  the  field  and  refuse  to  fire 
a  gun,  so  intensely  they  hated  Pope.  They  would  not  fight. 
Four  of  our  chief  generals  laid  their  commissions  on  Stanton's 
table — unless  Pope  was  dismissed. 

Whom  can  we  believe  ?  What  is  truth  ?  But  all  will  be  well 
in  the  end.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Sept.  10,  1862.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  Miss  C.  Robbins. 

...  I  ought  to  have  put  into  this  letter  to  you,  instead  of  into 
one  I  wrote  Susan  this  morning,  what  I  heard  about  Heintzelman, 
Pope  and  McClellan.  It  is  surprising  how  every  assertion  of  his 
enemies  is  point-blank  contradicted  by  his  friends,  and  how  en- 
tirely satisfied  people  seem  here  with  McClellan  being  in  supreme 
command.  For  my  part  I  have  no  faith  in  any  one  who  once  be- 
longed to  Quitman,  and  the  Lone  Star  Association.  I  cannot 
agree  with  you  in  interpreting  Heaven, — for  the  prolongation  of 
the  war  may  be  the  one  thing  needful — the  dog-day  weather  to 
ripen  the  fruits.  .  .  . 

In  this  night  a  nation's  liberties  are  being  born,  and  the  idea 
of  ideas  born  again.  If  the  black  race  receive  liberty  and  educa- 
tion by  it,  the  sorrows  of  the  war  will  be  forgotten.  My  heart 
bleeds  for  the  widow  and  the  orphan  nevertheless;  for  my  own 
wife  may  be  a  widow,  and  my  children  orphans,  before  the  war 
ends.  I  wish  I  could  see  my  way  clear.  I  would  start  to-morrow 
for  Sharpsburg.  Horace  Furness  is  there,  making  himself  very 
useful.  The  army  ofiicers  at  last  confess  they  don't  know  what 
they  would  have  done  without  the  Sanitary  Commission.  .  .  . 
Then  all  my  professional  engineering  abilities  and  experience  go 
for  nothing,  at  a  time  when  they  might  be  useful.  Bache  says 
they  need  very  much  a  military  map  of  the  environs  of  Philadel- 
phia. But  I  have  no  means  to  make  one  and  am  so  bound  by 
engagements  that  I  can't  stir.*  .  .  . 

*  My  father's  extreme  near-sightedness  made  it  impossible  for  him  to 
be  a  soldier 


41 6  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xvii 

Philadelphia,  Sept.  i8,  1862.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  All  the  world  is  moved  with  joy  and  grief  and  horror  at  the 
carnage  and  victories  of  the  last  few  days.  Whatever  may  be 
in  future  our  lot,  certainly  the  success  of  the  rebel  raid  would 
have  been  dreadful,  and  we  therefore  rejoice  that  it  is  stopped. 
Henry  is  sorely  distressed  about  his  favorite  regiment,  Col.  Greg- 
ory's—  all  cut  to  pieces.  Col.  Miles  seems  to  have  played  the 
Ball's  Bluff  game  over  again,  and  been  shot  to  escape  hanging. 
Carlyle  says,  "  The  American  war  is  the  dirtiest  chimney  that 
has  been  on  fire  for  a  century."  Let  it  burn  itself  out;  it  will 
purify  the  atmosphere  of  the  whole  world.  I  wish  I  could  take 
the  cheerful  view  of  the  issues  of  the  war,  that  I  took  last  spring. 
But  let  us  do  our  duty  as  individuals  and  God  will  write  our 
history.  Our  own  little  terms  of  life  are  but  very  short,  and  all 
the  future  is  not  to  be  hurried  up  at  the  command  of  our  impa- 
tience. .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Sept.  25,  1862.    To  his  Wlfe. 

...  I  have  just  returned  from  .  .  .  West  Chester.  .  .  .  On  the 
roads,  we  saw  poor,  weary,  returned  soldiers,  for  whom  I  felt 
great  compassion.  I  feel  a  continual  shame  and  desire  to  take 
part  in  the  war,  much  as  I  shrink  from  bloody  deeds  and  the 
violent  ways  of  doing  good.  The  example  of  good  men,  and 
especially  of  good  young  men,  is  very  magnetic.  Then,  the  great 
proclamation  which  has  suddenly  come  at  last,  converts  the  war 
into  what  we  wished  it  to  be  at  first,  a  holy  crusade  for  human 
liberties.  The  death  of  Edward  and  wounding  of  Paul  Revere* 
touch  me  deeply.  Poor  parents!  poor  Wife!  poor  Sisters! 
How  many  wives  are  inconsolable!  How  many  children  are 
adrift  for  life!  Words  cannot  write  the  history  of  such  a  war. 
While  others  suffer,  we  are  safe.  I  feel  as  if  this  ought  not  to  be. 
Happiness  at  such  a  time  is  almost  a  crime.  I  do  not  know  what 
to  think  or  say  about  our  affairs.  I  feel  unwilling  to  criticise  any- 
body's character  or  conduct;  except  those  flagitious  wretches 
whose  personal  pride,  and  the  ambitious,  arrogance  of  whose 
class,  have  precipitated  us  into  this  maelstrom  of  woes.  I  take 
no  interest  in  the  subjects  of  daily  life,  when  two  short  months 
must  decide  for  another  year  of  carnage — or  against  it.  The 
drums  beat  all  day  long  under  my  window;  and  the  loveliest 
music  plays  in  the'  centre  of  the  square  in  the  afternoon;  but 
these  are  the  trappings  of  death.  .  .  . 

*  A  Memorial  of  Paul  Joseph  Revere  and  Edward  H.  R.  Revere.  Pri- 
vately printed.     Boston:  William  Parsons  Lunt.     1874. 


i862  WAR  TIMES  417 

[Mass.  Gen.  Hosp.]  Sept.  26,  1862.    Susan  I.  Lesley 
TO  HER  Husband. 

.  .  .  The  poor  Reveres  are  bearing  their  grief  like  Christians. 
Edward  did  not  die  as  I  told  you  [by  a  spent  ball];  that  was 
the  first  supposition.  He  had  done  all  he  could  for  the  wounded 
on  the  battlefield,  had  performed  several  amputations  and  dressed 
all  the  wounds,  when  some  one  cried  out,  "  Our  men  are  flagging, 
Col.  Lee  has  lost  all  his  staff  officers." — "Do  our  men  flag?" 
cried  Edward.  "Hayward,"  he  said  to  his  assistant  surgeon, 
" I  have  done  all  I  can  do  here.  Col.  Lee  must  not  fail  for  officers." 
And  he  seized  the  arms  of  a  fallen  man,  and  rushed  into  the 
ranks,  restoring  order  by  his  presence,  and  cheering  on  the  men. 
It  must  have  been  less  than  an  hour  after  that  that  he  fell.  Shot 
through  the  heart.  In  the  confusion  that  followed  his  body  lay 
two  days  on  the  battlefield,  before  he  was  found.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Sept.  27,  1862.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Your  account  of  Edward  Revere  excites  my  admiration. 
Poor  Palmer,  Joe's  friend  and  admiration,  Colonel  of  the  Ander- 
son troop,  is  lost — perhaps  hung  as  a  spy.  Joe  was  terribly 
excited  yesterday  by  the  telegrams  of  the  railroad  disaster.  Two 
other  disasters  succeeded  it  the  same  day.  The  Convention  of 
Governors  had  some  secret  history,  which  is  now  to  be  suppressed, 
if  possible.  Oh — I  hear  worlds  of  things  which  I  can't  write — 
and  forget  even  to  repeat.  The  planets  have  forsaken  their 
courses.     God  rules,  nevertheless.  .  .  . 

Oct.  2,  1862.    Peter  Lesley  to  Miss  Catherine  Robbins, 

...  I  have  taken  two  days  round  with  the  U.S.  Navy  Com- 
mission to  show  them  the  iron  elephant.  The  champagne  and 
lobster  salad  are  sad  remembrancers;  but  otherwise  it  was  pleas- 
ant.— The  death  and  desolation  of  the  Civil  War  is  strangely 
crossed  and  seamed  with  these  anomalous  frolics.  When  I 
reflect — I  take  an  interest  in  nothing  personal.  Private  losses 
and  business  troubles  are  moonshine  and  shame,  to  the  night  of 
public  misery  in  which  we  travel.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Nov.  3,  1862.    To  the  Same. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  was  every  way  a  good  day  for  us,  and  to-day 
.  .  .  money  unexpectedly  comes  from  London,  .  .  .  and  I  pray 
the  elections  in  New  York  may  disappoint  the  rebel  hopes  and 
re-enforce  the  good  President's  right  hand.    The  rudder  clatters 


41 8  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvii 

fearfully,  and  the  ship  minds  the  helm  badly  enough;  .  .  .  but  in 
this  Country,  as  a  rule,  every  secret  thing  is  made  known  sooner 
or  later,  and  the  covert  wickedness  is  punished  before  it  has 
grown  over-powerful.     Let  us  hope  on,  hope  ever.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Day  after  Thanksgiving  [Nov.  20  (?),  1862.] 
Susan  I.  Lesley  to  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  The  day  was  fine,  and  Mr.  Furness  preached  well,  and 
took  the  most  hopeful  view  of  these  dark  times.  He  quoted  a 
letter  from  Washington,  written  to  one  of  his  Generals  in  the 
third  year  of  the  old  war,  in  which  he  spoke  of  Patriotism  having 
died  out  of  the  country,  and  the  army,  even  the  very  idea  of  free- 
dom, as  also  of  the  persons  in  high  places,  whose  sole  object  was 
some  small  personal,  political  and  private  end.  Mr.  Furness  said 
we  are  so  in  the  habit  of  dwelling  on  the  degeneracy  of  this  war, 
that  it  is  well  to  know  that  the  same  complaints  were  made  then, 
in  spite  of  their  great  and  final  success,  and  that  the  men  of  those 
times  were  not  all  saints  and  heroes,  more  than  now.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Dec.  5,  1862.    Susan  I.  Lesley 

TO   HER  BROTHER   JOSEPH  LyMAN. 

...  I  was  much  obliged  to  you  for  vsriting  "Some  sinking 
Peter"  an  encouraging  letter  on  the  times.  Before  he  received 
it,  he  was  considerably  set  up  by  McClellan's  removal,  but,  oh, 
dear,  one  needs  letters  from  New  England,  and  everything  else 
to  keep  up  hope,  that  has  to  live  in  this  benighted  region.  .  .  . 
Philadelphia  generally  is  what  I  call  "in  the  gall  of  bitterness 
and  bonds  of  iniquity."  .  .  . 

Feb.  14,  1863.    Peter  Lesley  to  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  The  Country  is  in  a  bad  way  apparently,  just  now,  and 
unable  to  cast  off  its  sickness,  but  it  will  not  be  mortal.  Depend 
upon  the  balance  of  power  being  in  the  end  upon  the  side  of  right 
and  liberty.  Recuperation  keeps  pace  with  exhaustion.  Like 
flying  neuralgia,  the  war  attacks  now  one  region,  now  another 
of  the  body  politic,  and  will  give  it  constant  and  terrible  pain,  but 
life  is  tenacious,  and  the  forces  of  nature  infinite  and  self-pro- 
ductive. The  democracy  is  divided,  and  the  government  has  the 
armed  organization  to  guard  itself  against  treason.  The  South 
is  growing  more  and  more  desperate,  but  more  and  more  exhausted. 
Above  all  men,  women  and  children  are  growing  accustomed 
to  the  new  ideas  of  the  day.    These  are  the  forces  to  rule  the 


1863  WAR  TIMES  419 

future.  Look  at  the  whole  and  not  at  details,  and  you  will 
feel  how  much  better  off  God  is  than  the  devil,  in  this  hand-to- 
hand  conflict.  .  .  . 


In  a  letter  from  my  mother  to  her  brother,  Joseph  Lyman, 
of  March  8,  1863,  is  the  following  sentence: — 

Yesterday  came  an  official  letter  from  the  Honorable  Henry 
Wilson,  naming  him  [Peter]  as  one  of  the  corporators  of  the  new 
National  Academy  of  Sciences,  and  asking  his  attendance  at 
the  first  meeting  in  New  York.  This  was  a  very  great  surprise 
to  Peter,  a  thing  entirely  unsought  and  unsolicited,  and  gives 
him  pleasure.  He  says  he  is  quite  mortified  at  himself,  that  he 
can  be  so  tickled  with  a  straw.  .  .  . 

Walter  Brown's,  New  York,  April  23,  1863,  Thursday. 
Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  I  dined  here  and  went  down  to  the  eight 
o'clock  evening  session,  at  which  we  heard  and  began  to  vote 
upon  the  constitution  and  by-laws,  as  reported  by  the  committee 
of  nine  appointed  in  the  morning.  When  it  came  to  the  article 
imposing  the  fealty  oath  of  the  Government  upon  candidates  for 
membership,  we  had  a  most  exciting  debate,  in  which  I  was  com- 
pelled to  join  in  three  or  four  speeches,  against  Leidy,  St.  Alex- 
ander, W.  B.  Rogers,  Newberry,  and  one  or  two  others,  while 
the  most  stirring  and  thorough-going  little  speeches  were  made 
by  Agassiz,  Bache,  Gould  and  Frazer.  After  repeated  protes- 
tations from  the  Copperheads  that  they  were  ready  to  take  that 
or  any  oath,  but  unwilling  to  exclude  "repentant"  "brethren" 
"for  all  time"  "who  had  gone  through  lire,"  etc.,  etc.,  I  urged 
there  were  men  among  [us]  who  had  goni:  through  the  same  fire 
and  come  out  pure  gold;  but  those  they  were  providing  for  had 
failed  to  stand  the  test.  This  brought  Barnard  of  Mississippi 
to  his  feet,  who  had  forsaken  all  and  come  North.  He  spoke 
as  only  the  Union  men  in  the  South  can  speak.  He  assured  us 
there  was  not  a  man  of  science  in  the  South  who  would  not 
continue  to  be  a  rebel,  and  spit  on  our  diploma.  Leidy  threat- 
ened to  resign.  When  we  passed  the  resolution,  he  asked  to  be 
recorded  against  it.  Frazer  and  I  immediately  called  for  the 
ayes  and  noes;  but  afterwards  it  was  all  hushed  up  and  no  record 
was  made,  by  general  consent.  Agassiz,  like  a  glorious  fellow 
as  he  is,  led  off  and  gave  us  courage;  Bache,  like  a  cunning  old 


420  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xvn 

dog,  waited  until  we  had  all  spoken  and  then  came  in,  like  the 
ironsides,  with  one  of  the  most  thundering  broadsides  ever  fired. 
W.  B.  Rogers,  who  yesterday  came  to  me  and  inquired  affection- 
ately after  you,  and  told  me  that  Emma  was  going  out  to  see  the 
black  regiment  when  he  came  away,  was  extremely  embarrassed 
and  troubled,  appealing  to  his  record  as  an  old  and  consistent 
anti-slavery  man.  Robert  sat  by  and  said  nothing,  looking  so  the 
picture  of  consumptive  and  dismembered  despair,  that  my  heart 
bled  whenever  I  saw  him.  [Prof.]  Henry  escaped  by  being  in 
the  chair.  Caswell,  the  Secretary,  Gould  and  other  politic  ones 
urged  all  the  while  that  when  the  time  of  penitence  and  recon- 
ciliation should  come,  the  oath  should  be  set  aside  ( !) .  Some  one, 
I  willingly  forget  who,  argued  that  we  would  lose  government 
patronage,  unless  we  bid  for  it  with  the  oath;  I  suspect  it  was 
only  an  unfortunate  way  of  stating  a  higher  truth,  that  we  are 
the  children  of  the  government,  and  the  Academy  is  the  creation 
of  the  government,  and  owes  it  an  oath  of  allegiance  as  its  first 
duty.  .  .  . 

AsTOR  Library,  New  York,  April  24,  1863.    Peter  Lesley 
TO  HIS  Wife. 

...  It  is  Friday  afternoon,  four  o'clock,  and  we  have  just  ad- 
journed, ...  I  have  a  world  of  anecdote,  to  tell  you  about  the 
long  hard  three  days'  meetings,  and  the  splendid  success  of  the 
organization  as  it  appears.  Time  will  show  how  much  reality 
underlies  this  show.  We  have  laid  down  the  base  of  a  pyramid 
for  all  ages.  .  .  . 

Early  in  June,  1863,  my  father  again  went  north  to  the 
Cape  Breton  country.  On  the  way  spent  four  delightful 
days  among  his  Boston  friends. 

Boston,  June  3,  1863.    To  his  Wipe. 

.  .  .  I  can't  describe  my  "emharras  des  riches ses^^  in  the  way 
of  friends.  I  have  forty  miles  of  houses  to  call  at,  and  only 
four  days  to  do  it  in.  Monday  a.m.  early  I  take  cars  to  Port- 
land to  catch  the  steamer.  I  arrived  here  Wednesday  five  p.m., 
having  had  Runkel  for  a  brilliant  companion.  He  and  Wm.  B. 
Rogers  have  founded  the  Institute  of  Technology.  .  .  .  Spent 
the  whole  afternoon  with  Chauncey  [Wright].     He  is  fat  and 

"handsome,"   as   •  insists   on   our   saying.     Winlock,    head 

of  the  Nautical  Almanac,  and  member  of  National  Academy, 
came  in,  and  I  saw  B.  Peirce  in  the  street.  .  .  . 


1863  WAR  TIMES  421 

Boston,  June  14,  1863.    To  his  Wife. 

„  .  .  As  I  walked  towards  the  house  last  evening,  Mr.  Green 
drove  by  and  pulled  up  and  greeted  me  with  great  delight.  Sent 
his  and  Mrs.  Green's  love  to  you,  etc.,  etc.  I  found  him  again 
at  the  cars,  with  Wendell  Phillips,  who  is  boarding  there,  and 
who  told  me  that  the  President  assured  him  last  January  ist  that 
he  meant  to  have  100,000  blacks  under  arms  by  February,  and 
200,000  by  August.  We  have  now  less  than  20,000.  He  now 
promises  to  Stearns  to  grant  commissions  to  the  blacks  who 
deserve  them. 

Parker  House,  Boston,  June  14,  1863.    To  his  Wife. 

...  At  every  turn  I  meet  a  new  and  well-loved  face.  How 
many  friends  we  have!  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Went  to  church.  James  F.  Clarke  preached  a  wonder- 
fully touching  and  enlightening  sermon  from  "In  my  Father's 
house,"  etc.,  and  a  large  and  living  congregation  sang  divinely 
some  lovely  songs.  I  had  a  hand-shake  from  him  and  his  wife, 
and  Mr.  Bond,  but  could  not  find  Cousin  Susan  to  come  home 
with.  I  dined  with  them  however,  and  then  called  on  Julia 
Metcalf,  who  took  me  to  the  splendid  new  Jesuits'  church,  to 
vespers,  and  afterwards  into  the  college,  to  introduce  me  to 
Father  Varsi,  a  young  professor  of  Natural  History,  etc.,  an 
Italian,  with  whom  she  and  I  and  Miss  Dana  had  a  delightful 
talk  of  half  an  hour.  .  .  . 

At  Sea  between  Eastport  and  St.  John,  June  16,  1863. 
To  HIS  Wife. 

...  I  blow  you  a  kiss,  across  wind  and  wave,  and  over  the 
land;  where  the  old  Puritan  fathers  lived,  and  loved,  and  worked, 
and  died,  in  faith  of  an  immortal  life, — the  land  of  energy  and 
fidelity, — the  land  of  piety  and  charity, — the  blessing  of  the  earth, 
— from  which  streams  of  intelligence  and  high-mindedness  have 
gone  forth  to  make  green  the  West, — the  arsenal  of  conquests 
over  and  salvations  for  the  South,  and  for  distant  regions  not  yet 
entered  on  the  ledger  book  of  History.  I  seem  to  see  this  work- 
shop and  school-house  of  New  England  sending  out  millions 
of  mechanic  master  minds,  and  prophets,  and  apostles  of  knowl- 
edge, to  show  a  thousand  nations  how  to  be  born,  and  to  grow  up, 
between  [the  Arctic  Circle  and]  the  Straits  of  Magellan.  What  a 
destiny!  .  .  . 

There  are  a  number  of  interesting  people  on  board;  a  lonely 
girl  in  a  great  pea-jacket,  coming  down  to  the  ground;    half  a 


422  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvn 

dozen  supercilious  English  people;  wounded  soldiers  returning, 
armless  and  on  crutches;  lumbermen  from  the  Aroostook  region. 
But  I  cannot  get  up  any  interest  in  anything.  "My  heart's  in 
the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here."  If  you  were  by  my  side 
how  different  it  would  be!  Old — old — old — alas  for  the  departed 
joy  of  youth!  The  spring  of  life  is  tempered  out.  The  needle 
slowly  answers  to  the  current;  its  pivot  requires  new  sharpening. 
The  hot  heart  alone  keeps  its  full  life.  The  Lord's  will  be  done. 
— The  news  from  the  Rappahannock  disturbs  me.  I  am  afraid 
Hooker  will  be  worse  than  McClellan.  The  Lord's  will  be 
done.     But  I  wish  I  could  see  how.  .  .  . 

Chaelottetown,  Prince  Edward  Island,  June  i8,  1863. 
To  HIS  Wife. 

...  I  spent  the  whole  evening  with  Howard,  discussing  the 
war  and  the  previous  history  of  Sec.  Chase,  Lincoln,  and  other 
politicians  personally  known  to  him.  Chase  was  an  obscure 
and  detested  Cincinnati  lawyer,  known  only  by  his  resistance  to 
the  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  when  he  was  sent  to  Congress  first, 
by  three  "liberty  men"  who  held  the  balance  of  power  between 
fifty-four  Whigs  and  fifty-four  Democrats.  The  Democrats 
accepted  their  nomination  of  Chase  for  fear  the  Whigs  would  do 
the  same.  He  was  made  governor  of  Ohio  by  his  anti-slavery 
course  and  abilities  in  Congress,  and  returned  to  the  Senate  by 
acclamation,  when  selected  for  the  Treasury  ofl&ce. 

Here  I  am  again  returned  to  our  muttons,  instead  of  serving 
you  up  foreign  lamb.  But  the  late  news,  garbled  and  secesh 
telegrams  as  they  are,  have  made  me  so  anxious  that  I  can  take 
little  interest  in  the  passing  scenes.  We  left  St.  John  in  the  cars 
with  a  flock  of  fine-looking  and  agreeable  Methodist  preachers, 
going  to  attend  a  Convention,  on  Prince  Edward  Island.  Some 
of  them  are  evidently  interested  for  our  success.  But  it  was 
hard  to  lie  in  my  berth  at  midnight,  when  the  boat  touched  land, 
and  hear  the  sardonic  chuckling  with  which  the  news  was  retailed 
on  board,  as  it  came  fresh  from  the  telegraph  ofl&ce.  They  sup- 
pose here  that  the  late  nomination  of  Vallandigham  by  the  Copper- 
head Convention  at  Columbus  was  his  election  by  the  people  of 
Ohio.  "Peace  in  three  months,"  is  the  cry.  "Washington  is 
taken,  it  is  all  up  with  you."  ...  Do  send  me  as  many  papers 
as  you  conveniently  can.  Never  mind  the  expense.  If  two- 
thirds  miscarry,  I  must  get  our  statements  of  the  news,  or  these 
hateful  Southern  telegrams  will  drive  me  mad.  .  .  I  felt  like  turn- 
ing round  and  returning,  several  times.     But  one  can  do  litde 


i863  WAR  TIMES  423 

good  when  hundreds  of  thousands  are  wanted.     And  my  duty 
lies  before  me. 

At  Moncton  we  had  a  view  of  the  broad  bend  of  the  Petit- 
codiac  River,  round  which  comes  in  the  famous  bore  of  the  Bay 
of  Fundy  tide,  sixty  feet  high,  the  roar  of  which  can  be  heard 
on  a  still  air,  for  many  miles.  The  rise  of  the  tides  here  is  seventy- 
five  feet.  I  was  strongly  tempted  to  turn  aside  here,  and  take 
the  high  stage  road  down  the  isthmus  to  Pictou;  over  the  Cobe- 
quids,  and  past  the  Hillsborough  Albert  oil  coal  mine,  and  other 
interesting  places;  perhaps  I  shall  return  this  way.  .  .  . 

Other  letters  from  Charlottetown,  Antigonish,  etc., 
en  route  to  Sydney,  are  full  of  descriptions  of  the  country 
and  towns,  great  religious  conventions,  geology,  etc. 

Sydney,  June  22,  1863.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  The  evening  of  Simday  at  Plaister  Cove,  I  got  into  a  fear- 
fully hot  and  personal  discussion  with  three  Irishmen,  a  doctor 
educated  in  Philadelphia,  a  merchant  and  a  surveyor,  who  all 
took  the  Southern  side  insultingly.  They  begged  my  pardon 
afterwards;  and  I  then  learned  that  two  of  them  were  Catholics, 
and  nursed  a  grudge  against  me  for  my  story  of  the  riots  of  1844, 
at  the  supper  table.  My  companions  in  the  morning  were  an 
electioneering  member  of  parliament  and  his  friend,  from  Says- 
borough  to  Arashat,  a  Nova  Scotian  sea  captain  of  Yarmouth, 
going  to  look  after  his  fine  ship  just  wrecked  in  Cow  Bay;  and  a 
great,  red,  hale,  good-hearted  pilot  from  Newfoundland,  who  had 
piloted  the  great  steamer  from  Quebec  to  the  Gut,  which  the 
United  States  had  bought  at  Buffalo  and  ordered  round  to  New 
York.  Each  would 'make  a  hero  for  a  novel.  The  Yarmouth 
man  was  very  insulting  at  first,  good-humored  always,  but  cour- 
teous and  extremely  friendly  at  the  close.  I  worked  hard  to  con- 
vert the  party  to  the  Northern  faith,  and  think  I  succeeded. 
Perhaps  not.  The  cold  wet  night  wore  round  at  last,  and  I  fell 
asleep  after  daybreak,  to  find  myself  at  this  charming  old  home 
of  Mrs.  Rigby's. 

Sydney,  June  28,  1863.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  cannot  conceal  my  admiration  for  Victor  Hugo's  pict- 
ure of  the  good  Bishop  of  D .     I  must  confess  that  Victor 

Hugo  is  one  of  the  masters  of  the  craft.     He  moreover  turns  its 
arts  to  the  divinest  purposes.     Here  applies   the  maxim:    "/w 


424  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvil 

creatura  creator,  creaturaque  in  creatore."    The  Bishop  of  D 

is  Victor  Hugo  himself,  or  part  of  him.  I  have  conceived  a  ven- 
eration for  the  exile  of  Guernsey,  and  noM^  comprehend  his  great 
reputation.  You  ask  me  to  name  for  you  some  improving  book 
for  this  summer.  Such  books  as  "Les  Miserables,"  "The  Cloister 
and  the  Hearth,"  and  "A  Tale  of  Tvi^o  Cities"  seem  to  me  read- 
ing, par  excellence.  What  have  v^^e  to  read?  three  things:  his- 
tory, science,  and  love;  or  nature,  mankind  and  the  soul.  The 
late  novelists  give  you  these  together,  and  Christianized.  If  you 
were  a  girl  beginning  life,  I  would  know  what  to  recommend — 
each  of  these  in  detail,  systematized  and  exemplified;  or  the 
sciences,  biography  and  history,  with  geography,  and  meta- 
physics with  religion.  But  you  have  matronly  habits  now,  a 
mother's  duties,  a  brain  not  so  well  under  command  as  once.  If 
I  recommended  "The  Cosmos"  of  Humboldt,  you  would  yawn 
over  it  for  a  month,  and  reproach  me  for  a  year.  If  I  said,  read 
Darwin,  or  Huxley's  last,  on  species,  or  Lyell's  last  on  human 
vestiges  in  the  drift,  you  would  grow  cold  sitting  out  in  such  a 
wind  without  sunshine.  The  other  sciences  have  text-books — 
dry  impossible  stuff  for  you.  Shall  you  read  Thiers'  46  Volumes, 
or  Bancroft's  7,  or  Palfrey's  2  ?  If  we  could  sit  together  alone 
of  evenings,  or  afternoons  under  a  tree,  or  in  a  porch  overgrown 
with  honeysuckles,  it  might  succeed.  Even  then  you  would 
forever  interrupt  with  some  story  of  the  heart,  or  allusion  to  the 
children,  which  would  be  charming  none  the  less.  No,  read  good 
novels  and  reflect  on  what  you  read.  .  .  . 

July  4,  1863.    To  HIS  WrFE. 

...  I  will  draw  you  a  map  of  our  place  and  its  surroundings, 
by  which  you  will  understand  how  we  have  been  occupied  since 
Tuesday  last  in  surveying  the  country  between  Glace  Bay  Bar 
and  Schooner  Bay;  and  the  Cow  Bay  Road,  which  we  did  not 
finish;  but  all  that  I  undertook  for  identifying  the  coal  beds  and 
enabling  me  to  trace  them  across  B.  G.  Bay  on  to  the  company's 
lands,  was  very  successfully  performed.  I  have  also  completed 
my  materials  for  the  continuation  of  my  memoir  for  the  American 
Philosophical  Society. 

Ah,  bah!  why  do  I  talk  of  all  this  poverty  and  barrenness, 
when  the  land  of  fancy  and  life  Hes  open  before  us  so  broadly? 
Tired  with  the  mechanics  of  writing,  I  have  just  taken  up  Victor 
Hugo's  divine  tragedy  at  page  78,  where  he  begins  an  episode 
suddenly  with,  "  Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  a  kind  fairy,  who 
created  meadows  and  trees  expressly  for  lovers,"  and  then  for- 


r86.3  WAR  TIMES  425 

getting  his  fairy  tale,  he  flies  forward  in  his  career  with  the  words, 
"Hence  comes  that  eternal  school  among  the  groves  for  lovers, 
which  is  always  opening,  and  which  will  last  so  long  as  there 
are  thickets  and  pupils  Hence  comes  the  popularity  of  spring 
among  thinkers,"  etc.  His  thoughts  come  in  the  midst  of  his 
descriptions,  like  flashes  of  lightning  along  the  night  tempest; 
and  his  philosophies  rival  themselves  like  great  ubiquitous  roll- 
ings of  thunder.  I  have  already  begun  to  excerpt  sentences 
for  you,  such  as: — "She  who  would  remain  virtuous,  must  have 
no  compassion  for  her  hands,"  which  I  read  "he"  and  "his," 
and  thereby  re-enforce  my  respect  for  laboring  men,  and  my 
gratitude  to  the  Almighty  that  I  was  not  born  a  gentleman.  .  .  . 
Of  Tholomyes  de  Toulouse  he  says,  "But  as  his  youth  died  out 
his  gayety  increased;  he  replaced  his  teeth  by  jests,  his  hair  by 
joy,  his  health  by  irony,  and  his  sick,  weeping  eye  was  always 
laughing.  He  was  dilapidated  but  covered  with  flowers." — His 
most  tonching  appeal  to  charity  for  the  French  prostitutes  and 
his  most  brilliant  honmot  is  a  mere  speck  of  crimson  like  one  of 
Turner's  on  a  yellow  landscape,  ending  a  long  description  with 
the  simple  ejaculation,  "Alas'  was  the  Jungfrau  ever  hungry?" 
O  genius!  how  mysterious,  godlike  and  desirable  thou  art!  The 
poet  is  above  all.  One  who  can  feel  all  joys  and  woes,  describe 
all  situations  as  if  from  the  finest  cliffs,  pronounce  righteous  sen- 
tence on  every  action  of  high  and  low  life,  and  still  keep  the  rising 
suns  and  coming  harvests  of  time  in  full  mind — is  the  true  poet 
and  the  Messias  of  his  generation,  unto  whom  every  knee  bows 
and  every  tongue  confesses  to  the  glory  of  God  the  Father  of 
All. — I  confess  it — a  new  world  has  been  opened  to  me  by  this 
man  Victor  Hugo.  A  new  style  of  thinking  and  speaking  has 
been,  if  not  invented,  brought  to  perfection  by  him.  His  genius 
diffuses  itself  through  both  civilizations,  that  of  Europe  and  that 
of  America,  must  act  hke  the  carbonic  vapors  which  issue  from 
some  vast  volcano,  and  spread  themselves  through  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  whole  planet,  giving  a  new  impulse  to  vegetation. 
What  infinite  joy  to  be  ordained  to  play  such  a  role!  But  I  see 
clearly  that  in  this  case,  as  in  all  others,  genius  is  rooted  in  labor 
and  is  watered  by  time.  His  one  chapter  "On  the  Year  1817" 
must  have  cost  him  six  days  at  least  of  hard  work.  Nor  can  any 
man  deal  so  deftly  with  his  tools,  and  toss  over  such  heaps  of 
material  to  select  out  what  stuff  he  wants,  who  has  not  spent  a 
lifetime  in  the  practical  industry  of  his  profession.  I  wish  I 
knew  something  of  his  life  in  his  island  exile;  I  mean,  what  it 
has  been.     Is  he  rich?    Is  he  well  bred,  well  born?    Is  he  soli- 


426  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvn 

tary,  or  much  visited?  Does  he  write  by  night,  or  by  day? 
Does  he  travel,  or  always  stay  at  home?  These  and  a  hundred 
other  questions  one  puts  while  reading  "Les  Miserables." 

I  lament  the  brusque  reply  I  made  in  my  last  letter  to  your 
sweet  request  for  some  book  to  study.  When  I  said  your  time 
for  study  was  passed,  I  meant  to  imply  no  diminution  of  your 
intelligence;  far  from  it;  but  only  a  change  in  your  hmitations 
of  life.  Reading  for  you  now  is  rather  to  keep  you  from  reverie 
on  the  one  side  and  gossip  on  the  other  than  for  systematic  study. 
It  is  so  with  me  also,  except  when  I  am  "reading  up"  a  partic- 
ular point  or  theme.  Reading  of  good  books  converts  reverie  into 
meditation;  and  gossip  into  conversation.  To  perform  these  two 
functions,  reading  must  be  suggestive,  liberal,  noble-minded,  in 
other  words,  be  characterized  by  information,  experience  and 
reverence.  The  best  novels  are  so  characterized,  for  the  best 
novelists  have  studied  science,  travelled  abroad,  read  history, 
and  returned  to  Christianity.  In  their  stories  you  perceive  that 
they  describe  others,  but  are  really  themselves.  Heroes  and 
heroines  nowadays  must  be  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  the  truest 
types  or  novel  and  novelist  are  together  sent  by  the  reading  public 
to  Coventry.  The  only  danger  is,  one  that  my  Susie  runs;  she 
reads  a  novel  through  at  a  sitting.  This  converts  the  medicine 
to  poison;  and  makes  the  wholesomest  food  an  indigestible  load 
on  the  brain;  it  shuts  out  meditation,  and  prevents  the  memory 
storing  up  for  conversation;  it  siirrenders  the  reader's  soul  to 
the  story,  as  helplessly  as  a  wreck  rolls  on  a  sea  before  the  winds. 
The  first  symptom  of  fatigue  should  be  to  the  reader  as  significant 
and  as  imperative,  as  the  first  sense  of  satiety  to  the  eater.  This 
habit  of  steady  reading,  without  intervals  of  work,  silence,  walking 
or  conversation,  is  what  enervates  and  ruins  the  so-called  "novel- 
reader." 

But  I  ought  to  have  written  you,  before,  my  views  of  the 
benefit  it  will  be  to  you,  to  read  elementary  books  to  the  chil- 
dren, provided  they  be  not  elementary  moral  and  religious  books. 
The  most  invigorating  truths  for  us  are  the  commonest.  It  is 
capital  exercise  for  the  head  to  read  to  children,  their  geography, 
natural  history,  physics  or  language  lessons.  These  remind  us 
of  those  facts  and  laws  and  general  conclusions  to  which  thinking 
men  have  arrived  on  all  subjects  proper  to  their  life;  and  they 
form  the  skeleton,  muscles  and  skin  of  knowledge,  the  organic 
machinery  of  education.  To  inspire  this  body,  you  already  have 
your  own  genius,  your  inspirations,  your  elevated  moods,  and 
just   instincts,   and  earnestness,   and   hope   and  love.     But   the 


1863  WAR  TIMES  427 

body  must  not  be  left  unexercised  at  any  age,  otherwise  decrepi- 
tude comes  unbidden.  In  educating  your  children  by  reading 
their  school  books  to  them,  with  explanations  when  they  call 
for  such,  you  do  for  your  mind,  what  the  happy  mother  and  father 
do  otherwise,  when  they  take  a  walk  into  the  country  with  their 
children.  Besides,  you  acquire  the  new  science  of  the  day  also 
and  do  not  fall  behind  the  age  and  your  children,  who  are  part 
of  it.  For  in  their  school  books  you  will  learn,  what  they  learn, 
the  latest  knowledge  of  the  day.  A  mother  ought  not  to  allow 
her  children  to  acquire  a  contempt  for  her  as  un  peu  passee.  .  .  . 

[Northampton?  or  Bellows  Falls?],  July  3,  1863. 
Mother  to  Father. 

.  .  .  Sunday  after  tea  came  Martha,  and  Mary  Ann  Cochran, 
with  Wentworth  Higginson's  Journal  of  last  winter,  which  they 
had  copied  from  the  time  he  took  command  of  his  regiment  of 
Colored  South  Carolina  Volimteers.  Oh,  it  was  splendid,  I 
assure  you,  just  as  fine  as  could  be;  how  I  long  to  have  you  sit 
beside  me,  and  hsten.  She  read  till  darkness  came  on,  and  then 
promised,  to  come  up  to  tea  Tuesday,  and  finish  it.  Although 
the  whole  Journal  is  written  in  the  highest  style  of  manly  enthu- 
siasm, you  feel  that  he  has  the  keenest  perception  of  both  the 
finer  and  weaker  traits  in  the  black  character.  His  descriptions 
of  Camp  life,  of  the  evenings  under  the  Live  Oaks,  the  speeches 
and  songs  of  his  men,  and  all  their  peculiarities  were  both  thrill- 
ing and  amusing.  His  accounts  of  their  celebration  of  the  first 
of  January,  and  reading  of  the  President's  Proclamation,  was 
magnificent. 

...  All  this  last  week  we  have  been  having  the  most  exciting 
news  from  the  neighborhood  of  Philadelphia:  Lee's  army  so 
near,  Hooker  removed,  Meade  in  his  place,  and  no  one  knowing 
how  anything  is  to  end. 

At  the  Northampton  station  we  heard  that  Generals  Pleason- 
ton  and  Reynolds  were  killed.  ...  The  state  of  the  country 
too  makes  us  anxious,  and  I  miss  your  words  about  the  war, 
which  have  always  been  encouraging.  The  present  crisis  is  a 
trying  one  certainly,  and  every  day  it  appears  to  me  that  the  North 
are  miserably  apathetic,  and  unaware  of  the  opportunities  they 
are  losing.  .  .  .  Our  companions  [on  the  stage  ride  from  Littleton 
to  Whitefield]  were  two  orthodox  ministers  who  conversed  on 
the  end  of  the  world  and  the  general  judgment,  and  the  piety  of 
Stonewall  Jackson  and  Beauregard,  who  always  partook  of  the 
Sacrament   before   every   battle,   while   our   impious    Generals, 


428  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvn 

Hooker  for  instance,  made  only  such  remarks  as  that  "he  had 
got  Lee's  army  where  God  Almighty  couldn't  get  him  out." 
Such  prayers  as  the  Rebel  Generals  made,  they  argued  would 
beat  down  the  very  battlements  of  heaven.  .  .  . 

In  July  my  mother's  cousin,  Paul  Revere,  was  killed 
at  Gettysburg,  and  she  suffered  much.  She  writes  sadly 
to  my  father:: — 

Dear  Peter, — It's  of  no  use  to  try  to  be  happy  while  this 
war  lasts — we  can  only  be  patient,  and  feel  that  our  country  is 
passing  through  a  great  retribution,  out  of  which  it  may  come 
cleansed  and  purified,  but  for  which  the  sacrifice  is  immense. 
To  think  that  this  poor  suffering  family  is  only  one  of  thousands. 

July  lo.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Captain  Parrott  has  just  arrived  from  Sydney,  bringing 
the  news  of  the  fall  of  Vicksburg  and  the  defeat  of  Lee;  the  fall 
of  gold  to  130  and  of  flour  in  proportion.  My  heart  swelled 
with  gratitude,  and  a  great  weight  seemed  lifted  off.  The  tele- 
gram says,  the  Confederates  have  lost  11  generals,  t,^  colonels, 
and  30,000  troops.  I  see  so  much  in  this  event,  that  I  am  dumb 
about  it.  No  words  describe  a  great  revolution  past;  how  much 
less  one  to  come!  .  .  . 

Sydney,  Little  Glace  Bay,  July  12,  1863. 
Peter  Lesley  to  Miss  Robbins. 

I  cannot  do  better  than  finish  my  Sunday  with  a  reply  to 
your  kind  letter  of  the  23rd  ultimo.  Since  then  we  have  heard 
of  the  fall  of  Vicksburg  and  the  defeat  of  Lee's  army  of  invasion. 
It  made  a  profound  impression  upon  us  all.  I  never  doubted  of 
either  result;  yet  the  news  seemed  too  good  to  be  true  when  it 
came.  It  bewildered  me.  How  many  thoughts  these  sudden 
vicissitudes  occasion!  Surely  the  events  of  history  are  the  great- 
est of  all  phenomena  to  thoughtful  minds.  The  same  emotions 
arise  so  regularly  in  the  heart,  that  they  become  habitual.  I  look 
out  upon  the  firm  land,  and  the  still  firmer  sea,  and  wonder 
that  all  things  are  so  permanent.  There  is  an  equanimity  of 
nature  which  reflects  the  equanimity  of  God.  The  same  sun 
and  moon,  the  same  winds,  the  same  passions  and  actions  of 
mankind,  like  moods  of  society,  like  changes  of  history,  ever- 
lasting basis  of  nature,  ever-working  forces  of  society,  perpetual 


1863  WAR  TIMES  429 

repetitions  of  personal  experience,  endless  alternation  of  work 
and  rest,  night  and  day,  fixed  aversions,  unalterable  affections, 
faith  that  confirms  itself  daily,  charity  that  always  exacts,  hope 
that  finds  no  rest  but  in  the  eternal  and  infinite, — all  things  seem 
to  centre  in  the  immutable  God.  Duty  perpetual,  time  a  mighty 
river  hardly  conscious  of  tides,  character  consolidated  like  a 
pvramid,  existence  still  a  mystery;  nothing  saves  us  from  ennui 
but  the  conviction  that  all  things  must  continue.  Happiness, 
a  wayside  flower,  sure  to  bloom  in  the  spring,  if  we  are  patient 
over  winter.  Good,  waiting  for  us  in  its  season.  God,  an  eternal 
presence. 

Tuesday,  July  i/^h. 

My  work  is  so  far  advanced  that  it  has  become  monotonous. 
Ben,  with  four  men,  is  sinking  a  second  hole  in  search  of  the  great 
bed,  and  if  he  does  not  strike  it  to-day,  will  commence  a  third 
to-morrow.  For  my  part,  I  stick  to  my  ofiice  work,  and  in  the 
afternoon  go  over  to  see  how  he  gets  along,  and  do  a  little  instru- 
mental work  in  that  neighborhood.  These  afternoon  walks 
along  the  cliffs  are  very  pleasant.  At  other  times  I  continue  my 
readings  of  "Les  Miserables."  I  find  it  a  great,  a  charming,  a 
wonderful  book.  It  cheers  me;  it  inspires  and  it  enlightens  me, 
I  find  reflected  in  it  many  of  my  oldest  and  most  cherished 
thoughts.  I  find  here  for  the  first  time  a  distinct  enunciation 
of  my  theory  of  species,  in  the  spiritual  world — soul  species.  But 
his  pictures  of  goodness  are  so  well  sustained,  so  moderate  and 
considerate,  have  so  much  self-respect,  are  so  religious  and  also 
philosophical,  carry  such  loads  and  are  so  practical  and  precise, 
as  to  mode  and  subject,  that  the  reading  of  the  book  is  a  per- 
petual ravishment.  .  .  . 

I  should  hate  to  be  able  to  write  a  book  which  by  its  popu- 
larity would  help  other  books  to  draw  off  people's  attention  from 
those  of  Victor  Hugo. 

Glace  Bay,  July  14,  1863.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wipe. 

...  I  am  delighted  to  see  that  the  President  has  at  last  taken 
that  pestilent  scoundrel.  Mayor  Wood,  in  hand,  and  ordering  him 
to  appear  before  him  in  Washington,  has  "  seriously  advised  him 
to  back  off  from  his  treasonable  ways."  They  say  he  is  com- 
pletely cowed.  Vallandigham's  presence  here  in  N.S.  is  making 
no  commotion.  He  will  certainly  be  forgotten,  after  all.  The 
news  of  victory  will  suppress  the  new  desires  of  Europe  to  inter- 
vene.    A  Polish  war  seems  imminent,  for  all  Europe.     But  no 


430  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvn 

predictions  in  history  are  worth  much.  I  tremble  all  over  with 
excitement  at  the  accounts  of  the  pursuit.  I  know  the  country 
so  well,  it  all  goes  on  as  it  were  in  full  view  under  my  eyes.  I  see 
the  armies  separating,  pursuing  different  diverging  and  converg- 
ing roads,  passing  sideways  through  gaps,  ascending  the  banks 
of  rivers,  halting,  intrenching,  scouting,  fighting,  flying.  I  burn 
with  impatience  to  know  if  Lee  can  cross  at  Williamsport,  or 
has  had  to  go  up  to  Hancock.  Has  Meade  passed  through  the 
South  Mountain  gaps,  or  crossed  at  Harper's  ferry  or  at  Point 
of  Rocks?  We  hear  that  Dix  has  even  reached  Culpeper, 
That  must  be  a  fiction;  but  he  has  certainly  surrounded  Rich- 
mond on  the  North  and  Northwest.  Rosecrans  at  Chattanooga; 
Banks  and  Grant  moving  East;  Meade  at  Gordonsville;  the 
rebellion  is  dead  when  these  three  events  are  realized.  Did  you 
ever  read  such  a  description  as  that  of  Waterloo,  in  "  Cosette"? 
How  terrible!  How  minute!  How  perfectly  picturesque  and 
comprehensible!  It  is  as  perfect  a  piece  of  work  as  the  picture 
of  the  Convent.  .  .  . 

LriTLE  Glace  Bay,  July  i6,  1863,    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  cannot  refrain  from  announcing  our  success  yesterday, 
by  the  Steamer's  mail  to-day,  if  I  cannot  go  over  to  Sydney.  At 
supper-time  we  were  all  nine  telling  stories,  when  I  called  on 
Mr.  Lyman  for  a  side  dish,  at  which  the  Captain  was  much 
astonished.  Ben  came  downstairs  with  a  large  piece  of  coal 
which  he  had  taken  that  afternoon  from  the  new  eight-foot  bed, 
after  which  we  have  pursued  so  long,  and  which  was  opened  only 
yesterday,  to  my  inexpressible  relief.  A  weight  was  taken  off 
my  mind,  for  its  discovery  could  not  have  been  more  opportune; 
the  two  companies  being  on  the  spot  consulting,  and  new  opera- 
tions to  be  decided  on  at  once.  Moreover  Ben  found  the  place 
of  the  five-foot  bed  still  further  down  (Ross'),  also  on  their  land; 
and  the  evening  was  passed  in  jollity  and  shaking  up  the  tea 
canister  full  of  egg  nog.  .  .  . 

Waumbece  House  [Jefferson,  White  Mountains],  Sunday, 
July  19,  1863.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  felt  a  little  self-condemned  by  your  last  most  excellent 
advice,  for  I  had  just  gobbled  up  the  rest  of  "Les  Miserables," 
after  reading  "  Fantine  "  carefully.  I  shall  try  to  mend  my  ways 
in  future.  I  always  want  to  get  a  novel  "off  my  mind,"  so  as  to 
do  my  work,  and  that  is  the  reason  I  seldom  read  one.     For  I 


1863  WAR  TIMES  431 

am  so  weak  as  to  become  absorbed  in  the  story.  When  I  first 
got  here,  I  was  worn  out  with  my  journey  and  visit  to  Northamp- 
ton, and  glad  to  read.  I  wish  I  had  now  any  book  that  interested 
me  as  John  Stuart  Mill's  work  on  Liberty  did  last  summer.  I 
shall  never  lose  my  interest  in  reading  ethics,  or  biography,  and 
some  time  I  mean  to  collect  a  little  library  of  my  own,  of  the 
books  I  loved  and  lived  upon  years  ago.  I  note  what  you  say 
of  going  along  with  the  children's  studies — geography,  history, 
etc.  It  is  that,  I  think,  that  has  kept  Meggie's  [White]  mind  so 
bright.  I  regret  that  all  these  things  are  so  great  an  effort  to  me, 
and  that  my  education  was  so  poor  in  youth,  but  I  shall  struggle 
against  it  as  best  I  may. 

.  .  .  Have  not  the  Riots  in  New  York  and  Boston  been  dis- 
graceful ?  It  is  so  hard  I  cannot  get  newspapers  to  send  you,  but 
I  find  it  impossible  here.  ...  A  letter  from  Mrs.  Rebecca  Low 
of  Brooklyn  to-day  tells  me  they  are  terribly  excited  by  the  Riot, 
which  is  not  yet  entirely  quelled.  These  Copperheads  give  us 
even  more  anxiety  than  the  Rebels.  .  .  . 

Sydney,  Glace  Bay,  July  20,  1863.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  never  replied  to  your  long  letter  from  Bellows  Falls 
which  I  read  again  and  to  Ben  this  morning,  with  renewed  interest. 
There  is  no  better  way  of  getting  an  adequate  idea  of  the  world's 
populousness,  the  infinity  of  interests  in  Society,  the  affiuence  of 
personal  adventure,  and  providential  happiness,  enjoyed  by  man- 
kind. It  enlarges  my  view  of  life  on  the  planet.  We  are  too  apt 
to  overlook  the  masses  of  life  around  us,  just  as  we  overlook  the 
grass,  on  a  walk  through  the  fields.  People  are  like  grass-blades — 
flesh  is  grass  in  this  sense  also, — in  the  sense  of  number  and  in- 
dividuality,— but  they  are  also  rooted  together  like  grass-blades, — 
each  waves  separately,  but  is  anchored  in  the  common  soil.  Each 
also  feels  the  common  sunshine,  electric  currents  and  rain.  Yet 
each  draws  what  it  can  of  the  common  manure.  The  struggles 
of  man  with  man,  child  with  child,  family  with  family,  seaport 
with  seaport,  nation  with  nation,  is  a  grand  balance  of  forces. 
The  philosopher  comes  back  from  seeing  all  this,  and  some  one 
asks  him  "well,  what  do  you  want?"    He  replies,  "nothing."  .  .  . 

Sydney,  July  26  (?),  1863.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  but  a  few  minutes  for  you,  for  I  foolishly  wasted 
all  yesterday  in  writing  a  reply  to  Judge  Marshall's  attack  on  Sir 
Charles  Lyell  in  the  Provincial  Wesleyan,  and  made  myself  half 


432  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  .     chap,  xvn 

[sick  ?]  by  it  too.  Have  [had]  an  exciting  debate  all  the  afternoon 
with  an  Englishman  and  Scotchman  about  the  Alabama,  etc., 
etc.  Tired  out.  .  .  . 

Oh,  the  iniquities  of  Earth!  Oh  that  my  head  were  a  fountain 
of  tears,  to  weep  for  the  sorrows  of  the  daughter  of  my  people! 
But  the  daily  sun  and  frequent  rain  preach  peace  and  hope.  The 
laws  of  God  suffer  no  insurrection  among  them,  their  Union  is 
everlasting,  their  Constitution  is  perfect.  Let  us  live  under  that 
Constitution  and  Union,  peacefully  and  hopefully.  One  genera- 
tion passeth,  and  another  cometh.  Each  must  be  born  and  die, 
gather  its  flowers  and  fruits,  and  bear  its  summer's  toil  and  win- 
ter's cold.  Why  should  we  make  an  outcry,  when  things  go  for- 
ward a  little  more  rapidly  than  usual  ?  there  will  be  a  compensation 
of  sloAAm.ess  for  all  this  haste;  peace  and  war  alternate.  The  evil 
after  all  is  swallowed  up  of  good,  as  life  will  be  swallowed  up  of 
immortality.  Let  us  train  up  our  little  ones,  and  hold  ourselves 
in  readiness  for  the  day  when  our  change  shaU  come  .  .  . 


Early  in  August  he  returned  southv^ard,  stopping  for 
a  day  or  two  to  visit  my  mother  in  the  White  Mountains, 
and  then  after  a  short  stay  in  Cambridge  he  went  home. 

NORTHUMBEEXAND,  N.H.,  Aug.   12,   1863.      TO   HIS   WiEE. 

...  A  hot  and  dusty  ride  of  ten  miles  up  the  pretty  Connecti- 
cut brought  me  to  this  little  depot  village  of  the  Grand  Trunk 
R.R.  over  the  Ammonoosuc.  Going  in  to  dinner,  exclamations 
were  exchanged — Sam  Johnson  and  his  party  were  there,  and 
looked  at  me  as  if  I  had  tumbled  through  the  roof.  We  had  a 
tremendous  time  for  four  hours  on  the  balcony.  .  .  .  Johnson 
talked  in  his  old  lively,  earnest  style.  Told  me  all  about  his  Lynn 
church,  now  eight  or  ten  years  old,  and  the  only  independent 
church  he  knows  of  in  New  England.  They  intend  soon  to  build 
a  chapel.  But  I  confess  I  prefer  association  with  liberty,  to  the 
liberty  of  isolation. 

He  and  Longfellow  [Samuel]  are  getting  out  a  new  edition  of 
their  "Sam  Book,"  omitting  old  and  inserting  new  hymns;  hymns 
of  the  day.  I  don't  like  that.  Let  us  sing  the  old  and  act  the 
new — marry  the  divine  spirit  of  both  times — eat  the  honey  of 
last  year  while  we  tend  the  hives  in  the  garden  of  the  present. 
Must  we  always  be  made  to  prefer  green  cheese  ?  I  like  Old  Stil- 
ton for  my  part;  and  old  port,  and  old  music,  and  poetry,  and 


1863  WAR  TIMES  433 

heroism,  and  old  wives'  fables  too,  if  the  Apostle  will  pardon  me 
for  saying  so.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Aug.  18,  1863.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  The  Thermometer  this  summer  has  ranged  unusually 
high,  98 J°  in  an  exposed  place,  93 J°  an  average  for  two  weeks! 
Twenty  cases  of  sunstroke  per  day!  The  soldiers  are  dying  fast 
in  our  overcrowded  hospitals.  Think  of  our  having  70,000  rebel 
prisoners  and  they  between  15,000  and  20,000  of  ours!  Think  of 
13,000  nearly  naked,  and  more  than  half -starved  prisoners  on 
Fort  Delaware  island  alone,  working  for  their  living  in  the  broil- 
ing sun,  unloading  the  four  great  transports  that  perpetually 
bring  them  provisions!  The  common  soldiers  all  say — "only  let 
us  get  back  and  we  won't  fight  you  any  more;  we'll  let  the  whole 
thing  slide  and  go  back  to  our  work."  But  the  officers — sons  of 
wealthy  planters — say:  "you  thrashed  us  severely  at  Gettysburg; 
but  we  will  be  exchanged  soon  and  we'll  give  you  another  trial." 
The  exchange  goes  slowly  on  account  of  the  formahties.  So  does 
the  siege  of  Charleston.  I  have  no  hope  of  that  proving  success- 
ful for  two  months,  if  at  all.  Sumter  is  an  old  fort.  The  new 
railroad  iron  batteries  are  invulnerable  and  can  be  built  any- 
where. .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Aug.  26,  1863.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  How  I  wish  I  were  a  poet!  What  a  joy  it  must  be  to 
speak  what  is  in  the  heart  of  humanity!  Poets  ought  to  be  drunk 
with  the  delights  of  their  divine  craft  all  the  while.  To  think  of 
the  luxury  of  that  ability  to  glorify  all  we  love,  to  paint  halos 
round  the  heads  of  all  our  saints  and  angels,  to  substantiate  and 
perpetuate  our  praises  and  blessings,  to  call  an  assembly  of  man- 
kind to  admire  what  we  admire,  and  enjoy  what  we  enjoy,  and 
make  music  to  our  dancing,  and  dance  to  our  music!  Shall  we 
not  all  be  reborn  into  this  faculty  in  another  life,  although  we  are 
born  without  it  here  ?  It  is  a  doubling  of  the  gift  of  poetry,  when 
the  poet  is  also  a  musician,  and  can  sing  his  own  verses.  Such 
indeed  were  the  Merlins  and  Taliessins  (?)  and  Ossians  of  old; 
and  such  was  Tom  Moore  in  the  last  generation.  Lever  has  a 
charming  description  of  Moore  singing  his  own  verses  in  a  scene 
of  "Barrington." 

Aug.  26. 

To-day  the  joyful  news  comes  (alas  for  the  love  of  Christ!) 
that  Fort  Sumter  is  a  total  ruin,  and  the  bombardment  of  Charles- 


434  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvn 

ton  has  commenced.  What  astonishing  perfection  in  the  art  of 
war,  when  out  of  600  odd  shots  fired  by  the  siege  guns  on  Morris 
Island,  400  odd  should  strike  and  breach  Fort  Sumter,  at  the 
distance  of  two  miles !  I  am  very  much  afraid  that  the  three  rebel 
rams  will  lay  Boston  or  New  York  under  contribution  in  Septem- 
ber; they  are  nearly  ready  to  sail  from  Liverpool.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  they  are  destined  for  New  York,  and  that  Gov.  Sey- 
mour knows  it,  and  has  prepared  to  use  them,  or  rather  their 
attack,  for  his  nefarious  purposes. 

Joe  tells  me  a  most  laughable  story  of  Coatesville  (where  L.  S. 
is  to  live) .  Just  before  the  raid,  the  Pennsylvania  R.  R.  Company 
sent  all  their  rolling  stock  from  Altoona  (at  which  the  rebels  were 
dashing  to  all  appearance)  west  to  Pittsburg,  and  east  to  Coates- 
ville. At  each  place,  many  miles  of  siding  were  filled  with  loco- 
motives, etc.  At  Coatesville  30  or  40  men  were  placed  in  charge 
of  this  stock.  One  morning  at  dayhght  these  rascals  assembled 
in  the  valley,  a  few  miles  above  (west  of  C),  and  sent  in  a  deputa- 
tion of  18  on  horseback  to  demand  the  surrender  of  the  place, 
stating  that  they  were  the  advance-guard  of  an  advancing  force, 
and  wished  to  spare  blood.  The  burgesses  were  dreadfully 
scared,  and  assembled  hastily  and  surrendered  the  place  with  all 
the  stock  of  railroad  cars,  etc.  (to  the  keepers  of  the  same!),  and 
agreed  to  pay  a  certain  sum  of  money  to  save  the  place  from  de- 
struction. .  .  .  When  the  joke  came  out,  the  railroad  boys  who 
had  played  the  trick  didn't  dare  to  show  themselves  within  reach 
of  the  enraged  burgesses  for  a  week.  ...  I  think  such  stories  of 
the  war  ought  to  be  treasured  for  history.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Aug.  31,  1863.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Now,  as  I  never  conceal  anything  from  you,  even  at  the 
risk  of  giving  you  anxious  hours,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  am  holding 
it  under  advisement  (I  wish  I  could  say  advice, — but  I  can  get 
none)  to  go  to  Europe  for  three  months  or  more,  for  Mr.  Scott.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Sept.  3,  1863.    To  his  Wipe. 

...  I  stopped  at  Lippincotts'  and  found  he  had  still  225 
copies  of  my  Manual.  I  wished  to  clear  the  edition  out  by  tak- 
ing them  to  Europe. 

He  introduced  me  to  a  historic  character.  Judge  Trimble 
of  Tennessee,  the  man  who  protested  in  the  Senate,  and  walked 
out  alone.  He  told  me  he  had  entire  faith  in  the  vitaHty  of  the 
Nation;    that    Rosecrans    has    50-60,000    men    and    BiU'nside 


1863  WAR  TIMES  435 

30-40,000  and  that  they  will  probably  establish  themselves  in 
Eastern  Tennessee  and  Georgia. 

I  heard  yesterday  that  the  United  States  Government  had 
sent  an  ultimatum  to  England,  making  the  sailing  of  the  Alex- 
andra a  casus  belli,  and  that  the  troops  in  New  York  were  not 
only  to  guard  the  drafting,  but  to  invade  Canada. 

Read  the  President's  letter  to  the  Springfield  men.  It  made 
me  sore  with  laughing.  Think  of  his  talking  about  "Uncle 
Sam's  web  feet"!  and  "making  their  tracks  wherever  the  land 
was  even  a  little  damp"!  I  have  not  had  so  good  a  laugh  for 
a  long  while. 

But  it  comforted  my  faith.  He  is  so  straightforward,  and  open- 
hearted,  and  right-minded.  Charley  F.  told  me,  that  Robert 
Lincoln  told  him,  that  his  father  had  written  along  the  secret 
history  of  the  Cabinet,  and  meant  to  pubhsh  it  at  the  end  of  his 
term  of  ofl&ce!  What  an  overturning  of  etiquette  is  there,  my 
countrymen!  He  said  his  father  had  aged  greatly  under  the 
steady  pressiu^e.  Did  I  tell  you  that  Meigs  and  Hammond  are 
removed?  .  .  , 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
Second  Voyage  to  Europe,    i  863-1 864 

In  October  of  1863  my  father  made  his  second  trip  to 
Europe.  This  journey  was  taken,  as  Mr.  Lyman  states  in 
his  "Biographical  Notice,"  on  the  commission  of  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Railroad  Company,  for  the  purpose  of  examining 
"into  the  methods  of  hardening  the  surface  of  rails,  and  the 
success  of  the  Bessemer  process."  In  manner  of  travelling 
it  was  in  great  contrast  to  his  first  European  trip.  Then 
he  went  many  miles  on  foot  or  by  slow  conveyance,  stopping 
when  and  where  he  pleased :  now  he  hurried  from  point 
to  point  by  the  most  rapid  trains,  and  with  greatest  ease  and 
comfort. 

Yet  in  spite  of  his  haste  he  found  time  to  visit  his  old 
friends,  the  Bosts,  in  Southern  France  and  Switzerland, 
and  to  "eat  his  Christmas  dinner  with  Tholuck  and  Erd- 
mann  at  Halle." 

He  visited  England,  Belgium,  Western  and  Southern 
France,  Switzerland,  and  Austria,  being  gone  from  home 
about  three  months. 

This  was  the  most  socially  pleasant  of  all  his  foreign 
trips.  His  letters  are  full  of  the  meetings  with  agreeable 
and  distinguished  persons,  some  of  whom  he  had  known 
before,  others  with  whom  he  was  only  acquainted  through 
their  scientific  work  and  writings. 

In  France  he  enjoyed  especially  a  visit  to  Abbeville, 
to  see  the  newly  discovered  relics  of  prehistoric  man  in  the 
gravels  of  that  neighborhood.  He  had  always  been  deeply 
interested  in  this  line  of  investigation,  was  quite  fearless  as 
to  deductions  to  be  drawn  from  any  discovery,  only  in- 
terested that  the  truth  should  be  made  out  as  clearly  as 
possible.  If  the  truth  so  evidenced  was  inconveniently 
destructive  to  established  scientific  and  philosophic  theories, 

436 


1863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  437 

he  was  entirely  ready  to  readjust  these  theories  to  fit  the 
new  facts.  On  the  other  hand,  he  would  not  accept  a  new 
theory  on  insufficient  evidence,  but  was  willing  to  wait 
until  the  number  of  evidences  collected  justified  more  fully 
that  theory. 

During  this  trip,  on  the  few  occasions  when  it  was  possi- 
ble for  him  to  explain  the  true  causes  and  objects  of  our 
Civil  War  to  those  who  were  under  the  common  foreign 
misconceptions  of  the  whole  matter,  he  did  so  with  earnest 
conviction.  His  chief  opportunity  for  such  explanation 
was  at  a  dinner  of  the  "Royal  Society  Club,"  described 
slightly  in  a  letter  of  October  15.  I  have  heard  since  that 
he  spoke  on  that  occasion  with  great  clearness  and  force, 
and  gave  his  hearers  their  first  full  understanding  of  the 
Northern  position  in  our  great  struggle. 

The  company  on  the  steamer  was  a  pleasant  one,  de- 
scribed in  my  father's  ship  letter  as  follows : — 

Oct.  I,  1863. 

At  the  head  of  our  table  sits  Captain  Moody,  and  by  his 
side  Sir  Henry  Holland,  the  physician  of  Queen  Victoria,  on 
his  return  home  from  what  may  have  been  a  diplomatic  mission 
to  Washington.  He  is  an  old  man,  dressed  with  scrupulous 
care  in  black,  and  walks  about  deck  in  a  velvet  Scotch  cap.  He 
must  be  a  very  agreeable  person.  Mrs.  Greenough  sits  opposite. 
.  .  .  Mrs.  Eliot  and  Prof.  Charles  W.  Eliot  next  Sir  Henry. 

Oct.  4,  186 J. 

.  .  .  Besides  those  whom  I  mentioned  in  my  last  letter,  is 
one  W.  Marcet,  a  Swiss-born  English  physiological  chemist; 
a  Mr.  Roberts,  who,  with  Cobby  and  Harden,  form  a  trio  of  men 
interested  in  mines  of  coal;  a  Mr.  Monroe  and  his  young  friend 
Nichols,  who  has  been  in  the  army  as  surgeon,  and  now  goes  to 
Paris  to  study.  Sir  Henry  Holland  I  find  a  most  agreeable  com- 
panion, and  to-day  have  learned  another  connection  between 
us  in  his  intimacy  with  the  Harcourts,  father  and  son. 

The  Archbishop  of  York  married  him,  he  says;  and  Mr. 
Harcourt  was  the  Archbishop's  son,  who  wrote  upon  the  Deluge, 
and  started  me  on  my  long  train  of  mythological  research,  which 
lasted  at  least  ten  years,  and  will  bear  fruit  yet,  I  hope.  His 
son  again,  young  Harcourt,  a  London  lawyer,  38  or  40  years 


438  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xviri 

of  age,  has  written  three  admirable  papers  in  the  Times,  in  favor 
of  the  United  States,  and  signed  his  name  Historicus  (I  think). 

Then  we  have  an  EngKsh  captain  of  the  army,  who  tells 
amusing  stories  of  Pekin,  and  the  American  General  Ward, 
how  he  rose  from  nothing  to  be  the  leader  of  fifty  bandits  in  the 
Chinese  service  against  the  Chinese  rebels,  until  he  was  made 
grand  mandarin,  and  given  a  great  wife,  and  made  general  of 
3000  troops,  and  buried  with  all  the  admirals  walking  behind 
his  hearse. 

There  is  a  Spanish  painter  on  board,  who  tells  Mrs.  Greenough 
and  me  stories  of  the  great  pictures  at  Madrid.  .  .  . 

There  is  a  great,  strong,  intellectual  English  litterateur  on 
board,  who  knows  all  the  penny-a-liners  in  London,  and  can 
tell  the  qualities  of  every  writer  of  the  Westminster  Review, 
the  Spectator,  and  the  Times.  He  has  an  off-hand,  fine  way 
with  him,  denoting  power,  and  he  reminds  me  constantly  of  Mr, 
Ripley. 

Then  we  have  a  broad,  straw-hatted  individual  from  Califor- 
nia, who,  after  spending  most  of  his  life  in  hunting  and  trap- 
ping in  the  Rocky  Mountains,  settled  down  near  Sacramento 
City,  and  was  ruined  by  the  great  floods  five  years  ago,  since 
when  he  has  dug  gold  and  regained  a  larger  fortune  than  the 
waters  swept  away.  This  was  retributive  justice,  for  he  used 
the  very  rivers,  which  had  ruined  him,  for  sluicing  out  his  golden 
sands. 

London,  Tuesday,  11  p.m.,  Oct.  13,  '63. 

I  left  Boston  Wednesday,  the  30th,  and  arrived  at  the  car 
in  the  Mersey  Saturday  night,  October  loth,  and  went  up  to  Liv- 
erpool Sunday  morning,  October  nth,  and  to  London  Monday, 
12th.  .  .  .  After  dining  at  five  p.m.,  I  learned  that  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  was  to  preach  at  Great  George  St.  Chapel  at  six  o'clock. 
I  got  a  seat  in  a  front  pew  in  the  gallery,  and  looked  down  the 
immense  well  upon  a  vast  congregation,  arranged  so  as  to  lose  not 
the  least  space.  The  organ  is  behind  the  pulpit;  the  choir  sits 
below  and  around  the  pulpit,  and  an  accordion  one  side  of  the 
pulpit  led  the  most  massive  and  exciting  choral  or  congregational 
singing  I  ever  heard,  in  tunes  which  were  evidently  as  ancient 
as  they  were  English.  Such  singing  would  enchant  the  angels; 
none  of  the  dry,  senseless,  unmodulated  commonplace  tunes 
with  which  we  are  starved;  but  the  grand  impassioned  cadences, 
all  fire  and  life,  expressing  the  sentiments  of  ages,  the  feeling  of 
the  heart  of  all  mankind.     The  orator  was  worthy  of  the  occa- 


1863  SECOND   VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  439 

sion.  He  spoke  of  trust  in  God,  the  trust  we  yield  to  man  in  love 
and  friendship,  in  business,  pohtics  and  morals,  and  begged  us 
to  bestow  the  same  on  God.  .  .  . 

The  audience  were  evidently  puzzled  and  astonished  at  the 
preacher.  He  captured  and  commanded  them  repeatedly,  but 
as  often  lost  his  hold  of  them;  but  only  to  recapture  them  by  some 
new  and  more  astonishing  outburst  of  sentiment,  imagination 
and  argument.  ... 

London,  Tuesday,  Oct.  13,  1863. 

.  .  .  Bidding  my  companion  good-bye  at  the  station,  I  took 
a  cab  to  Morley's  Hotel,  on  the  Trafalgar  Square.  I  forgot  to 
tell  you  that  I  gave  Sir  Henry  [Holland]  my  preface  to  the  Cata- 
logue to  read  in  the  cars,  and  he  smilingly  observed,  on  laying 
it  down,  that  it  sufl&ced  to  show  him  my  character.  I  looked  at 
him,  but  said  nothing.  "  I  see,"  said  he,  "  that  you  are  learned  and 
imaginative."  I  smiled  and  still  said  nothing.  ...  I  am  always 
a  little  too  late.  It  is  to  be  written  on  my  tombstone  "Here  lies 
P.  L.  who,  like  the  little  nurse  of  Moloch,  always  arrived  when 
the  monkey  had  finished  exhibiting."  The  last  time,  I  left 
London  without  seeing  Westminster  Abbey,  or  the  Zoological 
Gardens,  in  order  to  see  the  Great  Paris  Exhibition;  but  by  turning 
aside  to  see  Amiens,  arrived  in  Paris  the  day  after  the  Exhibition 
had  closed.  This  time  I  arrive  in  London  on  the  day  that  Lord 
Lyndhurst — the  greatest  of  men — dies.  I  am  three  days  also 
too  late  for  the  great  Social  Science  Meeting  at  Edinburgh;  and 
one  day  too  late  to  see  the  great  service  for  the  new  Greek  King 
in  the  Greek  Church.  I  have  all  my  life  tarried  by  the  way.  I 
write  but  one  volume  of  any  book.  My  best  thoughts,  my  dis- 
coveries, are  all  anticipated  before  I  can  prepare  myself  to  pub- 
hsh  them.     Well! 

Before  dining  in  Morley's  Coffee  Room,  I  sent  a  messenger 
to  Baring  Bros.  81  Co.  to  ask  for  Joseph  Lyman,  and  for  letters. 
After  dining,  I  drove  to  High  Holborn  and  into  Wood's  Hotel, 
Furnival  Inn.  Joseph  Lyman  and  Mr.  Weiss  had  sailed  for 
Boston  on  the  29th.  Prepared  as  I  was  for  this,  I  was  strangely 
disappointed  and  felt  utterly  lonely.  So  I  went  to  the  theatre; 
not  to  Covent  Garden,  for  the  Prince  and  the  King  of  Greece  were 
to  be  there  and  there  was  no  chance  of  a  seat;  but  to  the  Adelphi, 
on  the  Strand,  where  after  a  little  comedy,  the  beautiful  tragedy 
of  "Leah"  was  put  upon  the  boards.  First,  I  was  captivated 
by  the  sweet  face  and  artless  manners  of  Miss  Henrietta  Simons 
as  Madelena;   and  then  shaken  to  the  centre  of  my  being  by  the 


440  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

denouement  of  the  first  act,  where  Miss  Bateman  as  Leah,  pur- 
sued by  the  ferocious  villagers,  instigated  by  the  concealed  apos- 
tate Jew,  the  schoolmaster,  is  saved  by  the  village  magistrate, 
and  the  village  priest  holding  the  crucifix  over  her  head.  .  .  . 
It  is  something  fine  to  see  such  acting  supported  so  by  the  whole 
troupe  upon  the  stage.  This  is  what  we  do  not  enjoy  in  America. 
One  must  come  to  such  a  centre  of  the  world  as  this.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Then  to  Baring  Bros.,  8  Bishopsgate  St.  Within,  and 
saw  Russell  Sturgis,  who  said  he  ought  to  know  me;  did  I  not 
marry  Susan  Lyman?  .  .  .  Then  I  walked  round  the  Bank  for 
No.  20  Tokenhouse  yard,  and  chatted  half  an  hour  with  Gerard 
Ralston,  who  was  glad  to  see  me,  and  made  me  promise  to  go 
with  him  next  Sunday  to  the  fine  service  in  the  Temple  Church. 
A  black  man  came  in.  G.  R.  is  wholly  devoted  to  the  blacks;  is 
a  good  aboHtionist,  and  longs  for  the  redemption  of  our  Israel. 
I  loved  the  old  man,  as  my  father  loved  his  father.  .  .  .  My 
coast  is  clear.  It  will  take  two  months  to  get  the  patent  through. 
I  must  then  return  to  London  to  sign  it.  Meanwhile  I  go  to 
Brussels  and  Paris  to  take  out  patents  there,  and  perhaps  to 
Madrid.  .  .  . 

London,  Wednesday  night,  October  14,  1863. 

.  .  .  The  dream  continues.  It  is  a  strange  mixture  of  the 
old  and  the  new,  the  real  and  the  fanciful,  necessity  and  ease, 
wealth  and  service.  Last  evening  I  wandered  round,  with  an 
acquaintance,  to  three  play-houses  of  the  most  modern  sort; 
this  afternoon  I  lost  myself  among  the  blackened  porticos,  cor- 
ridors and  courts  of  the  Temple;  to-morrow  morning  I  shall 
breakfast  with  Sir  Henry  and  Lady  Holland  in  a  West  End  city 
house;  next  day  I  shall  go  out  with  Russell  Sturgis  to  his  coun- 
try seat.  Meanwhile  I  roam  in  and  out  of  the  shops  of  the  Fleet, 
St.  Paul's  churchyard  and  the  Strand,  or  cab  it  up  and  down 
Holborn,  Skinner  and  Newgate,  looking  alternately  at  the  million 
inventions  of  modern  luxury,  and  at  the  solemn  and  beautiful 
old  church  spires,  around  the  towers  of  which  like  trees  these  in- 
numerable dry  leaves  of  art  and  fashion  fall  and  perish  every 
moment, — as  they  should.  St  Dunstan;  St.  Bride's,  with  her 
exquisite  pyramid  of  lanterns;  St.  Michael's  with  that  wonder- 
ful doorway  of  moulded  arches,  set  with  little-  heads,  and  six 
slight  red  syenite  (or  porphyry)  shafts;  Bow  Church  with  an 
open-work,  dome-like  lantern  around  a  shaft  sustaining  another 
lantern  up  above,  one  of  the  rarest,  loveKest  products  of  the 
fancy;   and  above  all  the  Temple  Church,  that  home  of  mystery 


i863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  441 

and  romance;  After  I  had  finished  all  my  work  to-day — it  was 
after  four  o'clock — I  left  my  packages  in  Dollond's  shop  and 
entered  St.  Paul's.  A  wooden  railing  led  us,  penned  in  from 
the  nave,  round  under  the  north  aisle,  to  a  chapel  at  the  base 
of  the  north  tower.  Distant  sounds  like  the  far-off  chantings 
of  angels,  came  floating  through  the  mighty  arches  of  the  nave 
and  under  the  dome.  I  followed  a  scanty  crowd,  and  as  we 
advanced,  the  music  grew  and  complicated  itself  in  fugued 
measures,  perfectly  entrancing  to  hearken  to.  Psalm  after  psalm 
was  chanted,  in  the  most  lavish  variety  of  modes.  Boys,  men 
and  women  singers,  wove  this  weird  dance  of  heavenly  symphony, 
like  a  flock  of  martens  round  the  eaves  of  a  church  where  they 
have  built  their  nests.  Often — six  or  seven  times — I  walked 
away  along  the  aisle  intending  to  depart,  and  as  often  was  brought 
back  by  some  new  device  of  celestial  harmony.  .  .  .Went  to 
the  Ha)^market  Theatre  to  see  the  "Rivals"  and  real  complete 
acting  for  the  first  time  in  my  life ;  for  every  character  was  well 
sustained;  there  was  no  rant,  no  fustian,  no  appeal  to  the  audience, 
no  false  sentiment,  but  all  was  as  quiet  and  natural  as  life,  ex- 
quisitely comical  and,  in  a  word,  satisfactory  beyond  criticism. . . . 

Oct.  15. 

I  rose  this  morning  by  my  alarum  at  eight  o'clock,  dressed, 
and  drove  to  Sir  Henry  Holland's  (25  Brook  Street  W.),  to  break- 
fast at  9.30.  He  was  standing  before  a  fire  at  the  side  end  of 
a  great  room,  with  a  screen  across  the  middle,  and  a  breakfast 
table.  Miss  Holland  came  in,  a  gentle  and  pretty  girl  of  eighteen, 
and  then  her  mother.  We  had  a  cordial  hour  over  curry  and 
fish,  capital  coffee  and  the  voyage,  and  afterwards  I  sat  in  Sydney 
Smith's  easy-chair,  playing  with  Sydney  Smith's  gold  eyeglasses, 
and  chatted  about  the  probability  of  reaching  the  North  Pole 
east  of  Spitzbergen,  the  voyages  across  Australia  and  into  Chinese 
Tartary.  Returning  to  the  hotel,  I  arranged  packages  for  dis- 
tribution and  drove  to  Jermyn  Street  Museum  of  Practical  Geol- 
ogy, where  Mr.  Riggs  (?)  the  librarian  treated  me  well  enough, 
but  I  could  see  neither  Ramsay,  Hunt,  Huxley,  nor  Murchison 
until  Monday.  At  twenty  minutes  to  two  exactly,  I  kept  my 
appointment  at  the  Athenaeum  Club,  when  Sir  Henry  drove 
up  and  took  me  through  the  rooms;  then  to  the  Reform,  Conser- 
vative and  other  clubs  near  by,  some  of  them  splendid  palaces, 
adorned  with  Roman  atria,  mosaic  floors,  statues  and  paintings, 
and  all  that  the  stomach  or  the  soul  could  wish.  The  Athenaeum 
Club  is  very  small  and  select,  but  has  80,000  volumes  in  its  li- 


442  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvm 

brary.  Then  he  drove  me  to  the  Colonial  office  in  Westminster, 
and  to  the  Privy  Council  building,  past  the  Horse  Guards,  Ad- 
miralty, etc.,  etc.,  to  Burlington  Palace,  where  upstairs  we  found 
Major-General  Sabine,  and  I  had  a  long  talk  with  him.  He  after- 
wards introduced  me  to  Dr.  Sharpey,  Secretary  of  the  Royal 
Society  (in  whose  rooms  we  stood),  and  they  made  me  promise 
to  attend  the  dinner  at  the  Royal  Society  Club  at  six  o'clock.  .  .  . 
An  hour's  rest,  and  I  drove  again  (through  the  constant  rain)  to 
the  St.  James  Hotel,  corner  of  Barclay  and  Piccadilly,  where 
every  Thursday  afternoon  the  Royal  Society  has  its  club  dinner. 
Here  in  a  little  room,  before  a  fire,  a  little  table  was  spread  for 
say  twelve  people;  soon  double  that  number  came,  and  the  ser- 
vants had  to  enlarge  the  table  and  much  fim  ensued.  The  presi- 
dent placed  me  on  his  left,  and  Lord  Littleton  on  his  right.  I 
was  overjoyed  to  be  introduced  to  Wheatstone,  a  quiet,  quizzical 
elderly  gentleman,  opposite  to  me,  and  to  Tyndall,  a  young  spry 
person,  further  down  the  table.  Dr.  Sharpey  took  the  foot  of 
the  table,  and  a  black  Ceylonese  barrister  sat  on  my  side  of 
it  half-way  down.  Young  Capt.  Douglass  Galton  of  the  War 
Office,  was  put,  for  want  of  room  at  the  head  of  the  table,  between 
Genl.  Sabine  and  me, — and  on  my  left  was  a  talkative,  anecdote- 
telling  nobleman,  who  knew  everybody  and  kept  our  end  of  the 
table  in  the  finest  humor.  I  told  the  story  of  poor,  good  meek 
Mr.  Launet,  asking  an  EngHsh  officer  at  Malta,  "Please,  sir, 
where  do  you  think  Paul  was  shipwrecked?"  and  receiving  the 
answer,  "None  of  your  damned  conundrums,  sir,  here,"  at  which 
they  laughed  immensely.  After  one  or  two  toasts  they  drew  me 
into  politics,  and  for  half  an  hour  I  fought  them  all.  The  Gen- 
eral then  asked  me  to  give  them  an  account  of  the  National  Acad- 
emy, which  I  did,  upon  which  great  laughter  arose,  many  ques- 
tions were  put,  much  discussion  ensued  and  the  evening  passed 
away.  Making  rendezvous  with  me  for  future  times,  and  getting 
a  promise  that  I  would  be  present  at  their  anniversary,  Novem- 
ber 30th,  to  dine  with  them  that  evening,  I  was  about  to  go,  when 
Dr.  Sharpey  and  another  Fellow  captured  me  on  Iron,  and  so  I 
must  go  to-morrow  to  Dr.  Sharpey's  house.  No.  2  Craven  Hill, 
Bayswater.  He  says  he  will  have  his  book  on  iron  ready  for 
me  on  my  retiim  in  December.  He  wanted  to  know  when  I 
came  in  whether  I  were  the  Lesley  who  wrote  the  great  book 
on  iron.  .  .  .  The  intense  anxiety  they  all  manifested  to  catch 
my  lightest  expression  of  opinion  about  the  war  was  painful  to  be- 
hold; and  the  earnest  assurances  they  continually  repeated  to  rne, 
that  I  would  find  no  passion  among  Englishmen, — but  a  desire 


i86s  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  443 

to  do  exactly  right,  showed  how  they  desired  to  influence  Ameri- 
cans and  ease  their  own  troubled  consciences.  I  spoke  always 
with  a  smile  and  half  jestingly,  hit  as  plainly  as  possible.  .  .  . 

Mokley's,  London,  October  16,  1863. 

.  .  .  One  of  the  first  things  we  learned,  to  our  joy,  on  arriving, 
was  the  fact,  that  the  broad  arrow  had  been  put  upon  the  Rams,* 
according  to  the  promise  of  the  Government  that  it  should  be, 
provided  the  Lairds  could  not  prove  that  they  were  meant  for 
other  parties  than  the  Confederate  States.  It  was  a  truly  diplo- 
matic way  to  get  the  Government  out  of  its  embarrassing  situation, 
for  it  to  throw  the  onus  probandi  upon  the  Lairds.  I  pitied  a 
poor  fellow  with  jaunty  cap  and  black  mustaches,  who  kept  him- 
self seclusive  all  the  voyage,  but  let  it  leak  out  tlaat  he  was  sent 
over  by  the  Confederate  States  to  sail  the  rams  to  Charleston. 
Mason  is  also  at  the  Washington  Hotel,  on  the  same  business. 

Morley's,  Oct.  lyth. 

After  making  up  more  packets  for  the  mail  and  parcel  de- 
livery, Friday  morning  (October  i6th),  I  drove  to  Mrs.  Hall's 

*  In  October  of  1863  two  ironclad  rams  which  the  "eminent  ship- 
builder Laird,  at  Birkenhead,"  had  constructed  for  the  Confederate  States, 
were  ready  to  sail.  Remonstrances  concerning  these  vessels  had  proceeded 
for  some  months  previously  from  Mr.  Adams,  our  minister,  to  the  British 
government.  Finally,  on  the  4th  of  September,  Mr.  Adams  "informed 
the  Foreign  Office  that  one  of  the  rams  was  preparing  to  leave  the  port,  and 
on  the  same  day  he  received  a  note  from  Lord  Russell,  already  three  days 
old,  giving  the  discouraging  and  alarming  answer  that  'Her  Majesty's 
Government  are  advised  that  they  cannot  interfere  in  any  way  with  these 
vessels.'  Mr.  Adams  at  once  replied,  expressing  his  profound  regret  at 
this  conclusion,  and  added  in  words  of  solemn  warning,  which  are  rarely 
heard  in  diplomatic  circles  except  on  the  eve  of  actual  hostilities,  'It 
would  be  superfluous  in  me  to  point  out  to  your  Lordship  that  this  is  war.' 
But  on  the  8th  of  September  he  received  a  note,  which  saved  Europe  and 
America  from  incalculable  evils,  that  instructions  had  been  issued  which 
would  prevent  the  departure  of  the  two  iron-clad  vessels  from  Liverpool. 
The  government  finally  bought  them,  and  they  were  taken  into  the  royal 
navy  under  the  names  of  the  Scorpion  and  the  Wyvern."  {From  Abraham 
Lincoln,  a  History,  Nicolay  and  Hay,  vol.  viii.  pp.  258-259.) 

Concerning  the  purchase  of  these  vessels  a  different  and  most  interesting 
tale  is  told  in  chapter  xxv.  of  "Chittenden's  Recollections  of  President  Lin- 
coln and  his  Administration." 

In  the  "Letters  and  Recollections  of  John  Murray  Forbes,  edited  by 
his  daughter  Sarah  Forbes  Hughes,"  is  a  very  interesting  account  of  much 
of  the  inside  history  of  this  international  episode.  See  vol.  ii.,  chap, 
sdv.,  pp.  3-9,  16,  20-27,  and  chap,  xv.,  pp.  41-49,  55-66. 


444  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xvin 

boarding-house,  beyond  Regent  Place  (35  Weymouth  St.),  to 
see  the  Eliots  and  Mrs.  Greenough,  but  they  had  flown  to  Paris. 
Then  to  Mr.  Adams'  house  at  the  corner  of  R.  Place  and  the 
Crescent,  at  the  Park  Gate,  and  had  ten  minutes  with  him.  He 
does  not  like  to  talk;  agreed  with  me  that  the  anxiety  of  the 
English  to  make  the  impression  that  they  are  quite  impartial  and 
just,  shows  a  conscience  ill  at  ease;  and  gave  me  a  hint  of  the 
system  of  speeches  to  constituents  in  the  vacation,  by  which  the 
Government  ministers  give  outside  information  of  affairs.  Sir 
Roundley  Palmer's  speech  at  Richmond  the  other  day,  is  less 
favorable  to  us  in  Trent,  Alabama,  and  Steam  Ram  matters 
than  was  expected  and  hoped  from  the  new  Attorney-General; 
still  is  a  great  change  for  the  better  from  Lord  Atherton  who 
was  compelled  to  resign  because  he  was  a  stick  and  a  muff.  Eng- 
lish politics,  I  think,  are  much  easier  for  an  American  [to 
understand],  than  American  politics  for  the  English;  because 
English  politics  have  to  do  so  much  with  place-holding,  person- 
alities, and  details  of  a  well-established  historical  policy;  while 
American  politics  are  always  experimental,  and  transcendental; 
in  fact,  are  the  discussion  by  practice  of  broad  principles. 

Then  I  drove  to  a  station  (Euston  Street),  and  dove  down  two 
or  three  stories  under  the  thoroughfare,  where  I  found  a  dark 
vaulted  railway,  so  full  of  sulphuretted  hydrogen  and  azote 
mixed  that  I  feared  a  fresh  attack  of  asthma.  A  train  soon 
came  along  and  whirled  me,  in  the  dark,  past  three  stations  to 
a  fourth  under  Paddington.  Emerging  to-day  again,  a  cab 
carried  me  to  No.  2  Craven  Hill,  where  Dr.  Percy  was  waiting 
for  me  in  his  study,  and  at  once  made  me  at  home,  with  cheroots 
and  a  glass  of  sherry,  over  the  lithographs  and  proof-sheets  of 
his  second  volume,  on  Iron ;  the  first,  on  Copper,  is  already  nearly 
out  of  print.  My  own  book,  the  Guide,  was  lying  open  on  his 
little  desk,  and  he  spoke  of  it  in  the  kindest  manner;  asked  my 
opinion  of  the  Thomas  Co.  Furnaces,  which  he  adopts  as  the 
typical  anthracite  furnace  of  the  world  (a  great  compliment  to 
America);  made  me  promise *to  write  something  for  him  before 
I  left  town;  showed  me  curious  old  anticipations  in  1640 — and 
1750 — of  the  mechanical  lamp,  and  of  the  malleable  iron  process; 
and  finally  occupied  me  two  hours  longer  with  American  poli- 
tics. I  find  he  coincides  with  some  of  my  cherished  geological 
views,  and  in  every  way  proved  a  most  agreeable  acquaintance. 
People  have  sent  him  gratis  ;^iooo  worth  of  drawings  for  his  book, 
which  will  appear  in  about  a  month. 

Just  before  I  left  his  house  came  in  the  distinguished  archae- 


1863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  445 

ologist  Mr.  Faulkner,  who  has  studied  the  East  Indian  mytho- 
logical remains,  and  we  had  a  most  interesting  chat  over  the 
new  commission,  headed  by  Cunningham,  for  preserving  the  an- 
tiquities, and  copying  the  inscriptions  of  Hindustan.  He  begged 
me  to  induce  Dr.  Leidy  to  cut  and  analyze  Dickenson's  human 
pelvis  of  Vicksburg,  for  Lyell  has  forsaken  his  old  doubts  and 
based  his  new  calculations  upon  this  "so-called"  antiquity.  .  .  . 

Oci.  20. 

. . .  Then  I  went  to  the  Emancipation  Society  rooms,  and  bought 
a  stall  ticket  to  H.  W.  Beecher's  great  speech  in  Exeter  Hall 
this  evening.  Returning  home,  I  drove  to  Jermyn  Street,  and 
had  a  warm  welcome  from  Ramsay,  and  a  nice  little  chat  with 
Murchison,  who  was  going  out  of  tovm,  and  says  we  shall  see 
each  other  more  in  December.  Ramsay  invited  me  to  dine  at 
his  house,  29  Upper  PhiUimore  Place  on  Kensington  Road,  three 
miles  due  west  of  here.  .  .  .  Driving  to  Lyell's,  I  received  the 
warmest  greeting  from  him  and  then  from  Mrs.  Lyell,  who  is 
more  beautiful,  sweet  and  pensive  than  ever,  a  perfectly  lovely 
woman;  we  three  had  a  nice  time  together  in  the  upper  parlor. 
...  In  the  evening  after  writing  awhile  for  Percy  on  iron,  I  felt 
worn  out  and  drove  to  Covent  Garden  Opera  house,  an  immense 
theatre,  beautifully  adorned.  .  .  . 

Wednesday,  October  20th,  to-day,  I  hoped  to  get  more  letters, 
but  was  disappointed.  I  drove  first,  to  the  British  Museum, 
and  was  cordially  received  by  Owen  in  his  den.  His  is  a  charm- 
ing face,  spiritual,  vivacious,  powerful,  sensitive,  gentle.  He  gave 
me  his  last  brochure  on  the  lizard  bird  of  Solenhofen,  and  then 
took  me  to  it  where  it  stood  under  its  glass  cover,  and  showed 
me  where  the  difi&culties  lay — in  the  abnormal  look  of  the  head, 
which  Owen  thinks  is  the  front  jaws  of  some  fish  which  the  bird 
has  eaten,  and  not  at  all  its  own  head.  He  showed  me  also  com- 
parisons of  the  great  pachyderms  of  Australia  with  its  existing 
ostriches  and  marsupials;  and  how  he  found  by  the  lachrymal 
duct,  outside  the  orbit,  that  his  great  new  carnivore  was  not 
placental,  but  marsupial. 

I  must  here  tell  you  one  of  Sir  H.  Holland's  jokes  on  Lyell. 
He  saw  him  running  across  the  street  to  him  one  day  saying,  "  have 
you  heard  the  news?"  "No,  .  .  .  is  Lucknow  relieved ? "  "Oh, 
I  don't  know  about  Lucknow — but  haven't  you  heard  that  we 
have  just  got  another  new  marsupial  from  the  dirt  bed  at  Leyme  ?  " 
I  find  Lyell  as  nervous  as  ever — more  so  in  fact, — and  far  more 
interesting.  .  .  .  Then  I  drove  out  to  Ramsay's,  and  Mrs.  Ram- 


446  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

say,  a  sprightly  little  woman,  claimed  to  have  seen  us  at  the  Halls' 
in  Albany.  At  dinner  I  sat  opposite  Selwyn,  the  Australian 
geologist,  beside  whom  sat  Best  of  the  British  Ordnance  Survey, 
and  opposite  him  next  me  Riggs,  the  chemist  in  Jermyn  Street. 
Mrs.  Ramsay  took  one  end  and  Ramsay  the  other  end  of  the 
table,  and  we  made  a  merry  party  until  two  little  girls  (six  and 
ten),  and  a  boy  between  them,  came  and  took  seats  among  us. 
Adjourning  to  the  parlor,  Selwyn  showed  us  his  photographs  of 
plants  and  shells,  graptolites  and  the  greatest  aerolite  ever  found, 
dug  up  from  the  gravel  in  North  Holland.  .  .  . 

London,  Oct.  21,  1863,  Wednesday.    To  his  daughter  Margaret. 

.  .  .  This  letter  shall  be  all  to  you.  I  have  not  forgotten  the 
lovely  letter  you  wrote  to  me  last  summer;  and  it  deserved  a  reply; 
this  shall  be  my  reply.  But  first  of  all  you  must  tell  Mamma 
what  a  great  time  there  was  at  Exeter  Hall  last  night;  what  a 
great  crowd  inside,  and  in  the  street,  of  people  who  could  not 
get  in;  common  folks,  and  nobility,  and  gentry;  what  great 
enthusiasm  prevailed;  what  cheering  and  thrice  times  three  given 
tremendously,  all  standing,  when  Mr.  Beecher  said  that  Lincoln 
was  an  honest  man;  and  how  Mr.  Beecher  was  compelled  to  go 
on,  again  and  again,  for  two  long  hours,  until  he  craved  permis- 
sion to  stop;  how  two  other  great  orators  followed  him,  and  res- 
olutions were  cheered;  how  questions  were  asked  him,  and 
answered;  and  how  one  fellow  who  proposed  to  cheer  Jeff.  Davis 
was  rolled  out  of  the  room.  Mamma  will  hear  nothing  of  all 
this  in  the  newspapers,  for  they  are  furious  at  such  exhibitions 
of  the  good  will  of  the  English  people;  and  the  leader  in  the 
Times  to-day  is  written  in  the  tone  half-impudent,  half-scoffing, 
half-lordly  and  indignant,  and  introduces  into  the  report  of  the 
speech,  as  prominent  cries,  the  one  or  two  single  "Noes!"  etc., 
which  were  heard  near  the  door.  The  discussions  also  among 
the  crowd  were  mostly  in  a  decidedly  Northern  tone,  and  the  whole 
thing  was  satisfactory. 

And  now  I  must  tell  you  about  the  Zoological  Gardens.  .  .  . 
But  now  let  me  tell  you  about  another  pretty  thing  I  saw  to-day. 
Coming  home,  I  bought  some  white  kid  gloves  and  put  on  my 
party  dress  and  a  white  cravat,  with  a  gold  scarf  pin  in  the  bow, 
and  drove  off  to  Harley  Street,  to  little  Master  Lyell's  birthday 
celebration.  There  were  lots  of  pretty  children  round  the  table 
in  the  dining-room,  with  Sir  Charles  at  the  head,  and  Lady  Lyell 
at  the  foot  of  the  table  (or  vice  versa);  so  Miss  Lyell  took  me 
upstairs  to  the  parlor;    after  which    came    in    the    two  yoimg 


i863  SECOND   VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  447 

Browns  of  Sydney  (studying  in  Jermyn  Street),  Mr.  Adams,  son 
of  the  minister,  old  Mr.  Horner  (Mrs.  Lyell's  father),  ex-president 
of  the  Geological  society,  Charles  Darwin  {the  Darwin),  a  gentle 
shy  person  of  55  -]-  years  of  age,  and  Mrs.  Bishop  Colenso  with 
her  two  children  (she  has  five).  After  we  had  gone  downstairs 
again  and  taken  our  tea,  and  returned  to  the  parlor,  where  the 
children  were  raising  Ned,  we  formed  a  circle  and  played  "post- 
man"; and  Meggie  would  have  been  astonished  to  see  her  old 
father  dodging  round  a  blind  postman  in  the  centre  to  exchange 
seats  with  Calais,  or  Vienna,  or  Balmoral,  on  the  other  side, 
and  mortally  afraid  of  being  caught  by  the  blind  postman,  in 
the  act.  It  was  very  funny  to  see  sweet  Lady  Lyell  or  funny 
old  Sir  Charles,  with  a  handkerchief  round  his  head,  dancing 
about  to  catch  us.  Afterwards  the  back  room  became  a  dress- 
ing-place for  charades,  and  troops  of  children  with  soldier  caps 
came  in,  marching  round  the  room.  ...  Sir  R.  Whittington  was 
Knighted  by  the  King  in  royal  robes,  and  his  cat  mewed  by  his 
side  (a  little  boy  with  a  shawl  tied  up  for  a  tail  and  two  great 
newspaper  ears).  Then  a  spectral  scene  was  introduced,  the 
lovely  Miss  Lyell  had  her  head  dressed  by  Susanna,  the  Irish 
maid,  in  the  most  extraordinary  style  and  was  put  to  bed  on 
three  chairs,  snored,  and  was  beset  by  a  dozen  terrible  spirits, 
who  appeared  to  her,  because,  she  had  eaten  some  pork  pie.  .  .  . 
Meanwhile  I  had  some  charming  talks  with  Mr.  Horner,  with 
Lyell,  and  with  Mr.  Colenso,  who  told  me  they  had  lost  most 
of  their  dearest  friends,  since  the  publication  of  the  book.'^  The 
bishop  remains  at  Oxford  another  year  to  get  out  Vol.  V.  and  VI., 
and  then  all  of  them  return  to  Natal.  .  „  . 

London,  October  24.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  just  been  regarding  with  amazement,  and  deep 
ponderings,  some  marvellous  scenery  at  the  Drury  Lane  Theatre 
whereby  Byron's  "Manfred"  was  illustrated,  before  a  large  audi- 
ence; with  enchanting  views  of  the  Alps,  and  the  Staubbach 
Fall,  Martin's  pandemonium  and  the  appearance  of  the  most 
beautiful  spirits,  representing  his  dead  Astarte.  .  .  . 

Yesterday  I  went  by  railroad  to  Kew,  crossed  the  river  bridge 
and  rang  at  Sir  Wm.  Hooker's  gate.  What  a  lovely  place  it  is! 
a  village  green  surrounded  by  quaint  old  houses,  taverns  and 
hot-houses  on   the   riverside,  and  by  lovely  ivy  and  flower-em- 

*The  Pentateuch,  ist  volume  published  in  1862;  7th  and  last  in 
1879. 


448  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

bowered  cottages  on  the  other,  with  a  village  church  and  spire 
at  one  end,  and  the  great  gates  of  the  palace  gardens  on  the 
other.  .  .  .  Admitted  through  the  hall,  I  was  told  I  was  expected, 
and  Lady  Hooker  ordered  the  footman  to  see  me  through  the 
cottage  garden  by  a  private  gate  into  the  grounds.  I  walked  for 
half  an  hour  in  search  of  Sir  William  and  his  son  Dr.  Hooker,  in- 
quiring of  every  group  of  laborers  and  gardeners;  but  none  had 
seen  him  pass.  At  last  I  got  round  to  the  great  gates,  and  no 
porter  being  there,  I  was  let  out  by  two  ladies  who  entered  with 
their  own  key.  .  .  .  Returning  to  Sir  William's  front  gate,  I 
met  him  crossing  the  road  and  he  brought  me  in  and  took  me 
again  through  the  private  garden,  and  began  to  show  me  the  many 
museum  buildings,  filled  with  polished  specimens  of  all  the 
various  woods  known  in  the  whole  world,  with  all  the  tropical 
plants,  with  all  the  temperate  plants,  with  all  the  orders  of  plants, 
etc.,  etc.  In  one  of  these  [buildings]  we  found  the  men  whom  we 
sought — the  two  great  African  travellers.  Dr.  Kirke  (Livingstone's 
companion  and  physician,  a  lovely  person)  and  Dr.  Mann,  the 
first  explorer  of  the  Gaboon  coast,  and  Camaroon  Mountains, 
and  Fernando  Po.  We  all  four  then  went  through  the  vast 
conservatories,  each  costing  from  ;^2 5,000  to  ;^5o,ooo,  under  the 
domes  of  which  grew  groups  of  tall  palm-trees,  the  dropped 
fruit  of  which  we  ate,  and  pronounced  the  little  oranges  things 
not  bad  to  take.  ...  It  was  a  private  palace  of  Victoria,  with 
seven  acres  of  garden  and  700  of  park,  but  she  made  Sir  William 
Hooker  superintendent,  and  gave  the  whole  to  Government  for 
the  enjoyment  of  the  people.  .  .  .  He  has  already  taken  in  380 
acres  into  the  gardens,  and  has  400  more  at  command.  .  .  .  All 
Baines'  collections  and  paintings  in  Australia  are  there.  .  .  . 
Mann  went  home,  but  Kirke  and  I  went  with  Sir  William  to  the 
house,  and  Lady  Hooker  and  we  three  made  a  jolly  party  at 
lunch  for  a  good  hour;  she  being  a  good  Abolitionist  and  he  very 
shy  of  the  subject.  After  pressing  me  to  come  again,  and  sending 
messages  to  the  Baches,  they  dismissed  Kirke  and  me  to  the  city. 
Oh,  how  desperately  tired  I  was!  I  could  hardly  drag  my  legs 
across  Hungerford  bridge  up  to  the  Strand.  But  I  only  had  a 
few  minutes'  rest,  and  then  had  to  return  across  the  bridge  to  the 
Waterloo  Station,  where  I  found  Dr.  Marcet  awaiting  me  with  his 
brother-in-law,  Pasteur.  .  .  . 

Paris,  Oct.  2Sth. 

...  I  left  London  Saturday  last  in  the  seven  o'clock  morning 
train  for  Dover;  in  a  dense  fog.  .  .  .  [Having  for  companion  in 


i86j  SECOND   VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  449 

the  train  from  Calais  to  Paris  an  intelligent  young  woman  going 
to  Pau  for  her  health,  he  fell  into  conversation.] 

I  gave  her  a  complete  account  of  the  American  rebellion 
and  our  English  relations,  as  I  understood  them,  because  she 
was  going  among  3,000  or  4,000  English  people  at  Pau,  who 
have  nothing  to  do  but  bathe  and  talk.  It  is  good  missionary 
ground.  .  .  .  Life  here  is  as  much  without  as  in  London  it  is 
within.  The  utter  externality  of  sentiment  and  conduct,  the 
complete  extemalization  of  all  life,  is  overwhelmingly  ludicrous, 
terrible,  pitiable,  to  the  new-comer.  The  stage  represents  the 
cause  of  it.  In  the  comedies  and  melodramas  of  the  French 
stage  you  see  that  the  past  life  of  the  city  has  been  so  drugged 
and  starved  alternately,  that  it  has  been  decrepit,  peevish,  sen- 
sual, selfish,  superficial  in  its  knowledge  of  things  and  in  its 
estimation  of  principles,  without  desire  for  the  quiet  depths  of 
home  life  and  virtuous  love;  or  if  the  desire  remains,  without 
the  ability  to  produce  these  grand  phenomena.  Home!  Love! 
The  French  stage  has  its  chateau  and  its  lover;  but  the  chateau 
is  the  home  of  appearances,  and  the  love  is  not  eternal.  I  do  not 
think  this  harsh  judgment  can  be  justly  applied  to  the  whole 
country  of  France,  and  yet  it  was  from  the  country  chateaux 
that  the  currents  of  poison,  streams  of  poison,  flowed  into  the  city. 
All  France  partook  of  the  Circean  banquet,  and  all  Frenchmen 
became  swine  and  wolves  and  other  hideous  animals.  One 
universal  debauch  of  soul  and  body  reigned  for  generations.  In 
the  midst  of  it  came  the  Reformation,  and  a  milhon  Protestants 
were  manufactured  out  of  the  residue  of  reason  and  affection 
that  was  left  to  the  unhappy  land.  But  they  were  persecuted 
down  and  persecuted  off,  that  the  nobles  might  continue  their 
debauch  and  the  peasants  their  agony.  At  last  the  Revolution 
came,  and  with  it  a  new  reformation.  It  is  possible  that  in  com- 
ing time  the  growth  of  liberal  ideas,  the  preaching  of  the  free 
church,  the  reform  of  the  common  schools  and  the  republication 
of  American  and  English  books,  may  gradually  deepen  the  con- 
victions of  the  French  people  in  all  that  is  inward,  permanent  and 
good.  I  believe  that  these  influences  will  have  their  effect.  I 
believe  that  the  forces  of  spiritual  nature  resident  here  will  have 
in  the  future  a  more  open  way.  I  beheve  that  there  is  a  good  deal 
of  genuine  home  Hfe,  truth,  love  and  constancy,  worship  and 
benevolence,  I  mean  beneficence,  in  France.  But  I  cannot  be- 
lieve that  France  does  not  need  a  great  reformation,  to  make 
her  comprehend  our  meaning  of  the  words,  Home  and  Love  and 
Virtue. 


450  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xvm 

But  I  am  giving  you  sentiments  instead  of  adventures,  opin- 
ions instead  of  facts;  a  mistake  which  I  thought  I  should  avoid. 
Let  me  continue  then  my  journal.  .  .  . 

The  rest  of  Monday  and  Tuesday  we  spent  trying  to  deliver 
letters  and  publications  of  the  American  Philosophical  Society 
to  Elie  de  Beaumont,  De  Verneuil,  M.  Gay,  and  M.  Dr.  P.  Broca 
(Secretary  Anthropological  Soc.) .  .  .  Old  Mr.  Gay  was  very  funny 
and  sociable  and  admired  our  visit,  especially  as  I  brought  him 
Mr.  Durand's  box  of  Rocky  Mountain  mosses.  Bossange  was 
exceedingly  amiable  and  obliging,  and  pressed  me  to  say  how  he 
could  oblige  me.  Broca  took  us  to  the  rooms  of  the  Anthropologi- 
cal Society  and  showed  us  the  great  cabinet  of  French  skulls,  60 
Basque  skulls  (all  but  one  dolichocephalic!),  33  just  got  from  Or- 
rouy  (near  Compiegne,  N.E.  of  this,  say  30  miles),  with  great 
jawbones,  and  of  the  stone  age  (but  with  one  or  two  bronze 
articles !),  from  a  cavern  in  a  gentleman's  (English)  park;  a  great 
find,  and  especially  important  because  8  of  the  33  thigh  bones 
have  a  hole  at  the  end,  like  the  monkeys  and  Hottentots  and  Quan- 
chos,  but  so  rare  that  of  400  Merovingian  French  thigh  bones, 
only  one  had  the  hole.  Broca  also  showed  us  the  MS.  report  of 
the  Commission  on  the  famous  jaw  discovered  in  the  Diluvium 
near  Abbeville,  in  favor  of  its  genuineness,  signed  by  Quatrefages 
(President  of  the  Anth.  Soc),  and  the  other  members  of  the  Com- 
mission. Falconer  came  over  first  and,  returning  to  England, 
wrote  to  the  Athenaeum  that  it  was  undoubtedly  genuine.  The 
pressure  upon  him  was  so  great,  that  he  then  reversed  his  judge- 
ment in  a  letter  to  the  Times  newspaper.  Afterwards  others  came, 
and  finally  the  Commission  sat  upon  it,  and  its  ^'precis"  will  be 
published  in  the  next  number  of  the  Journal  of  the  Society.  In 
England,  Lyell  it  was,  I  think,  who  told  me  the  jaw  was  of  course 
a  forgery,  and  M.  Boucher  des  Perthes  a  little  crazy.  Perhaps 
it  was  Hooker  who  told  me  so ;  I  forget  which.  M.  Boucher  des 
Perthes  is  over  80  years  of  age  now,  and  his  servant  breaks  the 
ice  for  him  in  winter,  to  let  him  have  his  morning  bath.  I  shall 
soon  see  him.  .  .  . 

Paris,  October  31,  1863.    Saturday. 

.  .  .  We  spent  a  pleasant  hour  with  Mr.  Beckwith  and  Leonard, 
yesterday,  and  I  afterwards  sat  another  with  Mrs.  Beckwith,  her 
daughter,  and  the  younger  son;  showed  them  your  portrait  and 
the  children's;  talked  of  spiritualism.  ...  I  was  most  cordially 
welcomed  by  M.  Soeman  (Louis),  the  great  mineralogist,  in  his 
cabinet,  45  Rue  St  Andre  des  Arts,  and  he  made  me  promise  to 


i863  SECOND   VOYAGE  TO   EUROPE  451 

come  to  the  Geological  Society  meeting,  next  Monday  night.  He 
gave  me  some  idea  of  the  iron -works;  but  sent  me^to  Mr.  Friedel, 
Conservateur  de  la  Collection  Mineralogique  de  V  Ecole  des  Mines 
(out  of  town),  and  M.  Gruner,  Directeur  des  Etudes,  on  whom 
Aleck  [Lesley]  and  I  called  to-day  and  received  every  atten- 
tion; letters  to  rolling  mills  and  furnaces  in  the  South;  instruc- 
tion how  to  get  across  to  them;  how  to  get  a  geology-chart  of 
France;  &c.  .  .  . 

...  I  make  slow  headway,  and  know  not  how  to  act  with 
prudence  and  decision  at  once,  until  I  see  the  whole  ground,  and 
this  costs  time.  I  have  now  my  choice  to  go  to  the  great  iron- 
works of  Liege,  or  to  those  of  Creuzot,  or  to  those  of  St.  Etienne. 
The  continuation  of  this  letter  will  tell  you  how  I  plan  for  the 
ensuing  week.  ,  .  . 

Amiens,  November  i,  1863. 

...  It  was  indeed  all  saints'  day  to  me.  And  then  to  wake 
from  the  vision,  and  find  myelf  sitting  to-day  in  the  self-same 
place  and  with  the  same  emotions,  as  twenty  years  ago,  yet  with 
a  lifetime  of  adventure  interjected !  .  . . 


Abbeville,  Monday,  November  2,  1863. 

I  walked  across  the  river  through  the  old  city,  passed  the 
cathedral  as  vespers  were  commencing;  but  had  to  go  first  to 
the  Tete-de-Boeuf  tavern,  and  find  a  nice  bedroom  with  petit 
salon  before  it,  where  I  now  write  all  these  tedious  trivialities  to 
you.  .  .  . 

...  A  well-dressed,  gentlemanly  fellow  of  35  perhaps  came 
to  meet  me,  saying  he  was  the  Concierge  of  M.  Boucher  des 
Perthes,  and  would  show  me  his  collection.  First  however  I  paid 
my  respects  to  the  great  archseologue,  who  looks  to  be  60,  but  is 
80  at  least,  and  rather  lame  just  now;  and  then  wandered  through 
a  palace  of  antiquities,  relics  of  every  age,  paintings,  sculptured 
tables  and  buffets,  porcelain,  wood  and  stone  ware  of  all  times, 
Roman  arms,  Celtic  stone  weapons,  and  chief  of  all  those  spear- 
heads of  reddish  dark  hue  at  least  50  in  number,  which  have  been 
discovered  at  Moulin-Quignon,  just  outside  of  the  city,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  drift,  and  with  them  the  jaw  (mdchoir  humaine)  now 
in  the  charge  of  M.  de  Quatrefages  and  the  joint  Commission. 
I  spent  all  last  evening  reading  the  various  reports  of  Milne  Ed- 
wards, De  Quatrefages,  and  extracts  from  writings  of  De  Beau- 
mont, Falconer,  and  others,  to  get  a  complete  idea  of  the  ''situa- 


452 


LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xviii 


tion,"  and  this  morning  I  go  to  see  the  locality.  But  I  must 
leave  that  to  my  next  letter,  for  the  mail  must  take  this  to-day  to 
Liverpool  if  it  is  to  reach  you  by  next  steamer.  .  .  . 

Melun,  November  3,  1863.     Ttiesday. 

.  .  .  Me  voila!  fairly  started  on  my  journey!  But  to  begin 
where  I  left  off  Sunday  night  at  Abbeville: 

.  .  .  Monday  morning  at  10  o'clock  I  posted  my  letter  in  a 
quaint  old  house  opposite  the  Cathedral,  bought  a  seal  on  which 
I  ordered  my  initials  cut,  climbed  into  a  sort  of  gig,  stopped  at  the 
gate  of  the  courtyard  of  M.  Boucher  des  Perthes  and  was  shown 
once  more  over  the  wonderful  cabinet  of  its  master ;  but,  this  time, 
by  himself.  Now,  in  fact,  I  comprehended  first  its  marvels.  He 
showed  me  hundreds  on  hundreds  of  objects,  fashioned  by  the 
antediluvians;  flints  in  the  forms  of  birds,  beasts,  fish  and  men; 
weapons  of  all  kinds;  tools  for  digging,  scooping,  cutting,  scraping, 
fishing,  polishing,  sharpening;  hatchets  of  deers'  horns,  in  the  ends 
of  which  were  stuck  sharp  fiints,and  through  their  middle  were  thrust 
wooden  and  horny  handles,  now  decayed ;  wedges  for  splitting  trees ; 
spearheads,  arrowheads,  mallets  and  knives.  Many  of  these  had 
been  found  at  the  bottom  of  the  gravel;  many  more  had  been  found 
in  the  innumerable  "tourbUres  "  or  peat  bogs,  which  almost  occupy 
the  fiat  meadows  of  the  Somme,  from  end  to  end.  Of  course, 
the  most  interesting  of  them  all,  to  me,  Coheleth     /r    /  » 

the  Arkite,  were  sundry  funny  adoptions  of  quaint   An  y  ?  J?  ) 
roots  and  flints  by  the  infantile  fancy  of  those  incip-  '  ^ 

lent  humanities,  in  which  they  no  doubt  found  the  same  pleasure  that 
our  children  do,  in  the  same  sort  of  objects.  In  every  case  where  a 
root  or  a  flint  could  be  tortured  into  an  animated  form,  especially 
where  one  eye  was  naturally  present,  the  poor  creatures  had  turned 
it  over  and  punched  or  chipped  another  eye  to  correspond,  and 
oftentimes  they  had  added  a  mouth,  and  now  and  then  rude  legs. 
In  a  few  instances  the  mouth  was  capitally  well  done.  Some  few 
human  faces  would  have  astonished  you.  In  one  single  instance 
a  root  representing  a  man  had  been  notched  above  the  face,  to 
represent  two  horns  or  Pan's  ears!  There  was  no  doubt  about 
the  object,  and  the  resemblance  to  the  old  devil-form  was  absurdly 
close.  Some  of  the  birds  were  most  laughable  types  of  swimming 
ducks,  and  flying  storks;  there  were  also  strutting  men,  and  even 
women  in  long  clothes.  As  to  the  implements  found  in  the  dilu- 
vium, the  same  sort  of  design  was  more  utilitarian,  but  equally 
artistic.  You  could  not  grasp  a  specimen  but  you  found  your 
thumb  sink  into  a  nicely  chipped  cavity  on  one  side,  and  your 


1863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  453 

forefinger  into  another  cavity  on  the  other  side;  and  the  positions 
of  these  holes  determined  the  use  of  the  tool,  whether  for  thrust- 
ing, striking,  cutting  or  scooping.  Some  were  so  arranged  that 
one  end  was  an  adze,  and  the  other  a  chisel;  or  one  end  a  scoop, 
and  the  other  a  knife.  A  few  were  playfully  bored  into  rings; 
and  some  of  the  knuckle-bones  were  made  into  "preachers"  just 
like  the  vertebrae  which  are  sold  at  our  fairs.  I  laughed  heartily 
at  the  completeness  and  absurd  pointedness  of  the  evidence,  and 
got  the  old  gentleman  quite  excited  by  my  sympathy.  He  gave 
me  lots  of  books  which  he  had  published,  and  took  me  to  the  street 
to  be  sure  that  my  Voiturier  knew  how  to  drive  me  to  the  quarries 
where  these  objects  (and  the  celebrated  jaw)  were  found. 

The  drive  was  a  charmingly  exciting  episode.  We  passed 
the  old  church  of  St.  Gilles,  and  issued  by  two  gates,  through 
two  lines  of  fortifications,  over  three  fosses  with  drawbridges  and 
winding  military  roads,  upon  the  great  plain,  gently — hardly 
perceptibly — rising  towards  a  group  of  windmills,  the  first  of  which 
was  the  celebrated — the  now  immortalized — Moulin-Quignon 
(Quignon  being  the  miller's  name),  near  which  some  common- 
looking  gravel  pits  had  furnished  the  human  jaw.  Samson's 
jawbone  of  an  ass  did  not  half  the  execution  upon  the  Philistines, 
that  this  jawbone  of  an  antediluvian  has  brought  upon  the  Eth- 
nologists. I  carefully  examined  the  section  of  soil,  gravel  of 
broken  flints,  and  various  kinds  of  bone;  and  selecting  a  broken 
flint,  I  tried  to  insert  it,  in  such  a  way  as  to  deceive  an  observer; 
but  it  was  a  difficult — I  thought  an  impossible  feat.  At  all 
events,  after  the  joint  Commission  had  fought  over  the  affair  for 
three  days  in  Paris,  and  adjourned  to  Abbeville,  they  became 
agreed  upon  the  impossibility  of  so  inserting  a  jaw  as  to  deceive 
M.  Boucher  des  Perthes.  They  agreed  that  it  is  a  genuine  fossil, 
like  the  genuine  fossil  implements;  and  there  is  but  one  of  them 
now,  I  believe, — -so  at  least  M.  De  Verneuil  told  me,  last  night — ■ 
viz.  M.  Elie  de  Beaumont,  who  does  not  make  the  jaw,  the  imple- 
ments, and  the  mastodon,  sow,  deer,  bear  and  other  extinct  re- 
mains, all  of  the  same  age.  De  Beaumont  strangely  holds  to 
Cuvier's  exploded  fancy,  that  the  ground  is  a  debacle,  or  land- 
slide from  above,  in  which  these  objects,  of  different  ages,  have 
been  entombed  together.  I  see  not  the  slightest  trace  of  a  land- 
slide— not  even  a  "creep."  It  is  not  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  or  slop- 
ing wall  of  a  valley,  at  all;  but  on  an  open  and  almost  level 
plain,  and  evidently  undisturbed.  This  became  still  more  evident 
when  I  rode  back  and  entered  the  city  by  the  Port  de  Bois,  passed 
through  it  lengthwise,  and  out  by  another  gate,  to  the  quarries 


454  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

of  Menchecourt,  which  are  far  more  extensive  and  curious  and 
which  have  yielded  a  richer  harvest.  These  quarries  I  examined 
carefully,  and  took  sketches  of  various  sections  of  the  drift  above 
and  the  loam  below.  The  hill  is  higher  here;  but  the  slope  is 
insignificant,  and  there  is  not  the  slightest  evidence  of  slip  or  move- 
ment at  any  subsequent  time.  .  .  . 

In  fact  I  can  prove  by  the  internal  structure  of  the  face  of 
the  quarry,  along  its  whole  extent,  that  it  is  an  undisturbed  deposit. 
It  is  therefore  now  a  simple  question  of  chronology,  to  deter- 
mine, in  fact,  at  what  age,  or  in  what  century  before  Christ,  the 
extinct  animals  lived,  whose  remains  are  here  mingled  with  the 
productions  of  human  skill,  want  and  fancy.  And  then  there 
arises  this  other  question,  Have  we  here  the  primitive  race  of 
mankind?  Or  are  these  works  the  rude  attempts  of  a  debased 
and  decayed  offshoot  from  the  nobler  primeval  people  of  some 
other  happier  clime,  the  East  for  instance?  The  theologians 
have  still  this  last  door  behind  them  to  escape  by,  and  carry  ofif, 
like  iEneas  from  burning  Troy,  their  dear  Anchises,  Adam.  We 
will  see,  if  they  found  another  Troy  at  Rome. 

But  I  weary  you  with  this  long  story.  Let  me  turn  from  it 
to  tell  you  about  the  quaintest  of  all  suburbs  of  the  quaintest  of 
all  old  fortified  cities,  this  of  Abbeville.  .  .  . 

Paris,  November  [4  ?]. 

...  It  was  the  evening  of  the  meeting  of  the  Geological 
Society.  I  was  set  down  by  mistake  at  the  gate  of  the  Zoological 
Society  in  the  Rue  de  Lille,  No.  19,  and  mounting  to  the  second 
story,  all  was  dark.  No  one  knew  where  the  Geological  Society 
held  its  reunion.  I  wandered  about  in  the  rain,  hopeless.  At 
last  a  cab  went  by.  I  arrested  it  and  drove  to  Socman's  house. 
He  was  expecting  me,  but  we  waited  for  a  third,  a  friend;  and 
then  we  all  three  walked,  until  I  was  completely  lost.  We  passed 
the  Eglise  de  St.  Severin  ( ?)  and  stopped  at  the  far  end  of  the  Rue 
des  Fleurs.  Upstairs  we  uncloaked  in  two  little  closets,  used  for 
a  library,  and  entered  a  long  and  narrow  room,  like  our  old 
parlor  in  Wetherill  Street  (no  larger),  where  I  was  introduced 
to  M.  Albert  Gaudry  the  president,  a  young  man,  who  after  a 
long  buzz  of  conversation,  all  the  members  standing,  called  the 
meeting  to  order,  and  made  an  Eulogium  on  somebody,  I  do 
not  know  whom.  I  was  introduced  also  to  De  Verneuil,  who 
came  and  sat  next  to  me.  Soeman  sat  before  me  and  gave  me 
information  as  I  asked  it.  Hebert  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room  on  the  front  bench.     Near  him  sat  Delesse.     Both  these 


i863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  455 

I  was  made  to  know  afterwards.  Mortillet,  the  friend  of  Desor, 
and  the  upholder  (against  Desor)  of  the  theory  of  the  scooping 
out  of  the  lacs  by  glacial  action,  and  principal  engineer  of  the 
Lombard  railroads,  sat  next  to  Hebert,  and  presented  a  note 
on  his  favorite  subject.  He  gave  me  afterwards  a  copy.  The 
meeting  was  very  informal;  the  members  talked  sitting,  and 
indulged  freely  in  jocose  remarks  and  repartees,  "causing  great 
laughter  at  the  time."  But  I  was  chiefly  amused,  and  a  little 
astonished,  at  the  side  discussions,  and  positive  but  good-natured 
fights  got  up  indiscriminately  among  them.  Hebert  was  es- 
pecially pugnacious,  but  evidently  knew  what  he  was  talking 
about.  I  understood  only  the  general  drift  of  the  proceedings 
and  not  at  all  the  detailed  remarks.  The  air  of  the  room  was 
asphyxiating,  as  Verneuil  justly  remarked,  as  the  old  janitor  got 
up  on  a  chair  to  stop  one  of  the  "mechanical  lights"  from  smok- 
ing. All  France  burns  oil  in  this  one  kind  of  lamp.  The  great 
variety  which  we  see  in  American  lamps  is  unknown  in  France. 
Walking  home  after  some  conversation  with  De  Verneuil  and 
Delesse,  on  Hunt's  metamorphosis  theories,  I  left  Soeman  and 
Delesse  in  the  street,  and  caught  a  cab  and  drove  home,  where 
after  an  hour's  packing,  Aleck  [Lesley]  joined  me  and  about  11.30 
we  went  to  bed. 

Lyons,  Nov.  7. 

.  .  .  What  would  I  not  give  to  have  had  your  charming  so- 
ciety during  my  last  three  days'  journeying  from  Paris  to  Melun, 
on  Tuesday;  from  Melun  to  Chagny,  Montchanin  and  Creuzot 
on  Wednesday;  from  Creuzot  by  Montchanin  and  Chagny  to 
Lyons,  on  Thursday;  and  all  over  Lyons  with  Mr.  Viollot  and 
Uncle  James  [Lesley]  yesterday!  To-day  I  am  writing  letters, 
walking  with  Uncle  and  dining  with  Mr.  Turgot  (?)  and  M. 
Viollot.  To-morrow  is  Sunday;  Monday  will  send  Uncle  and 
me  to  St.  Etienne,  and  Tuesday  back  by  Rive  de  Gier  to  Lyons 
again.  .  .  . 

Lyons,  Sunday,  November  8,  1863. 

...  A  tedious  ride  in  the  cars  in  darkness,  and  an  exciting 
ride  in  a  diligence  of  five  miles  further,  behind  three  white  horses, 
in  full  trot,  along  an  unknown  road,  brought  me  to  the  long  steep 
hillside  village  of  Creuzot,  and  to  a  tavern  undergoing  radical 
repairs. 

,  .  .  My  letter  to  Mr.  Blair  will  have  told  you  the  essential 
results  of  my  visit  to  these  wonderful  works,  where  6000  men 
and  300  women  are  employed,  in  every  form  of  iron-work,  from 


456  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

coke-burning  and  ore-smelting  to  engine-building  and  rail-roll- 
ing. But  I  would  fain  describe  the  views  from  the  terrace  of 
the  palatial  residence,  upon  the  plain.  ... 

.  .  .  We  went  higher  up  the  valley,  to  St.  Etienne,  a  city  of 
100,000  inhabitants,  but  as  mean  and  dirty  as  Pottsville.  .  .  . 
We  drove  first  to  the  school  of  mines.  .  .  .  M.  Lesiure  sent  me 
in  his  carriage  to  the  great  steel-works  above  Lorette  (five  miles 
up  the  valley),  where  M.  Bonassier,  a  jolly  little  round  fellow, 
who  was  an  evident  expert,  showed  me  the  utmost  kindness, 
showed  me  everything,  even  to  the  details  of  the  machinery  of 
the  Bessemer  process.  ...  At  11.30  I  was  at  the  station  and  had 
a  glorious  ride  to  Lyons  where  I  arrived  time  enough  to  hear  the 
band  begin  at  two  o'clock,  on  the  Place  Bel  Court.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Thursday,  November  12th,  a  carriage  at  the  door  by 
nine  o'clock  took  me  to  the  cars  and  five  hours  brought  me  to 
Geneva.  But  what  a  ride!  I  was  all  the  time  like  a  squin-el  in 
a  wheel,  flying  from  one  side  of  the  coupe  to  the  other,  undecided 
whether  to  pay  most  heed  to  the  ancient  villages  and  castles  on 
the  left,  or  the  Rhine  and  the  Alps  on  the  right;  in  despair  at  being 
obliged  to  consult  a  diffuse  guide  book,  three  maps,  and  an 
indicateur,  while  some  precious  chateau,  viaduct,  old  tomb, 
fair  view,  or  remarkable  geological  exposure  might  slip  by  me 
unobserved.  When  we  entered  the  gorges  of  the  Jura,  where 
the  geology,  the  civil  engineering  and  the  romance  of  the  route 
seemed  to  combine  for  the  purpose  of  overwhelming  me,  I  could 
not  but  sometimes  throw  book  and  glass  away  together,  and  give 
my  spirit  up  to  float  vdth  the  genii  of  the  place,  whithersoever 
they  said.  The  silence  and  the  solitude  of  the  ride  lent  it  a  sort 
of  spiritual  perfection.  I  whistled  and  sang  incessantly,  like  a 
bird,  keeping  time  to  the  rhythm  of  the  swift-moving  scenery, 
and  the  shifting  trains  of  thought  which  they  produced;  the 
gigantic,  unearthly-looking  walls  of  Jurassic  limestone  against 
the  sky,  stretching  for  miles  and  miles,  on  each  side  of  the  pro- 
found ravines  through  which  we  made  our  way.  .  .  . 

Going  to  the  Hotel  Metropole  [Geneva],  they  gave  me  a  third- 
story  window  on  the  lake!  I  telegraphed  to  Desor.  I  dined 
early,  at  four.  I  got  a  carriage  and  drove  round  in  vain  to  find 
my  dear  old  Caesar  Malan,  but  he  lives  an  hour's  drive  away; 
at  Vandoeuvres;  and  I  must  go  to-morrow;  I  must  see  Pictet 
also;  but  I  have  no  time  to  waste,  and  Desor  perhaps  can  help 
me  in  my  business;  so  I  am  in  a  hurry  to  get  back  to  Lyons  and 
to  go  to  Alais,  whence  I  go  to  Bordeaux  to  the  iron-works  there, 
and  so  to  Paris  and  Liege.     I  am  already  becoming  impatient 


1863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  457 

of  the  daily  delays.  ...  A  telegram  this  moment  from  Garnier, 
saying,  "Desor  est  en  Afrique  depuis  un  mois.  Retour  pas  encore 
fixe."  .  .  , 

Nov.  iT,th. 

...  I  wish  you  could  have  accompanied  me  in  my  ride  to-day, 
to  Vandoeuvres  to  see  old  Caesar  Malan,  and  then  round  by 
Cologny  and  MoHngnou  to  see  Adolph  Bost.  .  .  .  Amid  this 
beautiful  scenery  I  found  my  venerable  friend  in  a  charming 
cottage,  behind  a  country  church.  I  was  led  through  a  court- 
yard of  two  yards'  width,  in  a  hall,  into  a  charming  little  parlor; 
and  presently  the  old  man  came  down,  looking  very  little  older 
than  when  I  saw  him  last,  but  evidently,  as  he  called  himself, 
a  good-for-nothing  old  fellow,  that  is,  entirely  broken  down, 
but  with  age  only;  for  although  he  complained  of  his  memory 
and  said  he  did  not  at  all  know  who  I  was,  yet  my  words  recalled 
much  of  the  past,  and  illuminated  his  spirits,  so  that  the  old  fire 
came  to  his  face  again.  He  called  me  always  "dear  man"  or 
"my  dearest,"  and  would  not  talk  about  anything  but  my  past 
history  and  present  duties  and  position,  insisting  on  details,  and 
expressing  the  greatest  delight  with  your  portrait  and  the  chil- 
dren's. After  half  an  hour  he  became  tired  of  talking  English 
and  with  excitement  and  made  me  pray  with  him,  following  my 
prayer  with  a  short  one  for  me  and  mine.  He  then  dismissed 
me  with  a  benediction,  and  many  thanks  for  my  goodness  in 
coming  to  see  him.  He  considered,  he  said,  my  position  in 
America  a  high  one,  and  thereby  my  responsibilities  were  much 
increased — this  he  said  with  his  old  smile  and  sparkle. 

As  I  rode  away,  I  had  a  new  prospect — a  spiritual  one  added 
to  the  marvellous  world  of  beautiful  nature  spread  out  around  me. 
Somehow  I  was  dissatisfied,  however.  My  dream  of  twenty  years 
was  substituted  by  a  reality;  the  old  had  been  annihilated  by 
the  new.  This  always  shocks  me.  But  I  think  now  that  the 
new  dream  is  pleasanter  even  than  the  old  one,  and  the  old  one 
shines  through  it.  .  .  . 

...  I  returned  to  the  hotel,  warmed  myself,  began  my  letter 
to  you,  ate  my  second  breakfast,  and  drove  at  one  o'clock  up 
through  the  new  boulevards  on  the  destroyed  fortifications,  into 
the  wilderness  of  old,  quaint,  six  story  streets,  about  the  Hotel 
de  Ville,  the  courts  and  St.  Peter's  Church,  to  the  palatial  resi- 
dence of  the  celebrated  Francois  J.  Pictet-De-la-Rive,  the  pa- 
laeontologist. His  hall  stretched  across  the  whole  front  of  the 
court  and  beyond  it;   in  a  splendid  parlor,  I  waited  for  his  en- 


458  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

trance  from  his  chamber  on  the  right;  for  he  was  sick  with  rheu- 
matism in  the  left  arm.  He  received  me  well,  and  we  talked  in 
French  of  many  things,  and  persons,  especially  of  Desor,  who 
was  here  three  months  ago,  on  his  way  to  the  Atlas  Mountains 
to  return  at  New  Year.  .  .  .  He  then  took  me  upstairs  over  the 
different  departments  of  the  Museum — the  anatomical  room; 
the  rooms  of  Natural  History  and  the  rooms  of  geology  and  min- 
eralogy. In  the  last  suite,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  great 
classical  collection  of  De  Saussure,  and  over  the  case  himg  his 
Alpenstock  with  which  he  made  the  first  ascent  ever  made  of 
Mont  Blanc.     Albeit  not  given  to  relics,  I  gazed  at  it  with  awe. 


Nov.  14. 

.  .  .  Once  more  I  descended  the  covered  ways  to  the  hotel, 
where  I  wrote  and  rested  until  Bost  came  to  me  at  quarter  of 
four  o'clock  to  go  to  the  Gare,  where  we  took  first-class  places  for 
Lausanne  and  arrived  there  at  six;  took  chocolate  at  a  cafe,  and 
walked  to  Troyon's. 

We  knocked  at  a  small  door  in  a  stone  wall  with  Troyon's 
name  upon  it,  and  were  ushered  along  a  narrow  stone  passage  to 
a  parlor  door.  In  the  parlor  were  sofas  and  chairs  and  a  cen- 
tre table,  and  around  the  walls  from  ceiling  to  floor  were  glass 
cabinets,  deep  enough  to  have  shelves  of  different  depths  in 
three  sets  of  three  each.  In  these  cabinets  he  had  arranged 
I.  the  most  ancient  stone  and  stag-horn  implements  of  the  tu- 
muli and  of  the  pilotis.  2.  The  bronze  relics.  3.  The  relics  of 
the  age  of  iron.  4.  The  Merovingian  and  Roman.  5.  Those 
down  to  Charlemagne. 

I  cannot  stop  to  describe  the  most  interesting  of  these  things; 
but  I  bring  with  me  his  sketch,  over  which  we  can  talk;  especially 
over  the  apple-core,  chestnut,  hemp-seed,  scorched  wheat,  linen 
twine,  cloth  and  netting,  nephrite  and  serpentine  knives  set  in 
horn,  sharpening  blocks,  and  a  dovetailed  panel  door!  All  these 
he  described  to  us  in  French,  from  which,  as  my  head  was  too 
tired  to  comprehend  his  involved  sentences,  Bost  would  translate 
into  German  for  me.  He  then  introduced  us  to  his  wife,  a  little 
older  than  himself,  and  two  other  ladies,  who  vacated  the  little 
drawing-room  (a  mere  entry)  (sending  a  servant  back  for  their 
old-fashioned  foot-stoves)  in  our  behalf,  that  Troyon  might 
show  us  all  the  boxes  he  had  filled  with  new  species  from  C. 
in  his  last  exhibition  a  few  weeks  ago.  The  government  au- 
thorized him  to  dredge,  and  he  has  men  at  work;   and  although 


1863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  459 

he  has  been  to  the  place  forty  times  already,  he  told  us  there  must 
be,  in  proportion,  left  for  him  to  get,  at  least  60,000  more;  knives 
of  boar's  tusks  were  especially  beautiful. 

He  lit  us  to  the  door  (the  wee  little  weazened-faced  old  anti- 
quary) where  our  voiture  stood,  and  bidding  me  say  many  amiable 
things  to  one  Mr.  Franklin  Peale  of  Philadelphia,  and  offer 
him  a  fresh  exchange,  he  said  good-night;  and  we  gathered  up 
our  things  at  the  cafe  and  drove  on  an  hour. 

November  15,  1863. 

I  had  told  Bost,  as  we  sat  sipping  some  hot  drink  in  the  cold 
stone-floored  eating-room,  before  going  to  bed,  and  warming  our 
feet  at  a  little  fire,  that  the  most  characteristic  word  of  Christ  to 
me,  was  where  it  was  said  of  him,  for  "  those  whom  he  loved  he 
loved  unto  the  end,"  and  that  I  sympathized  more  with  those 
words  than  with  any  others.  So  after  we  had  got  into  our  beds, 
he  rose  on  his  elbow  to  blow  out  the  light,  and  looking  over  the 
back  of  his  bed  towards  me,  said,  "we  part  now,  perhaps  never 
to  meet  again;  receive  therefore  as  my  last  words,  'those  whom 
I  love  I  love  unto  the  end';  adieu."  To  this  I  said,  "adieu," 
and  lay  in  silence  for  hours  (as  you  do),  too  full  of  thoughts 
and  feelings  to  sleep.  I  go  to-night  at  4.10  to  Valence,  and 
to-morrow  to  Alais  Iron  Works.  .  .  . 

Alais,  November  17,  1863.     Tuesday  Night. 

...  I  will  continue  my  narrative.  After  sending  off  three 
letters  to  you,  packing  up,  signing  Uncle's  will,  and  bidding 
them  a  cordially  affectionate  good-bye,  I  took  a  five  minutes' 
glance  around  the  inside  corridor  of  the  grand  Court  of  the  Palais 
des  Beaux  Arts,  where  I  saw  arkisms  enough  on  Christian  and 
Roman  tombs,  altars  and  statues  to  set  me  wild.  But  what 
have  I  to  do  with  such  things  while  patenting  a  railroad  bar? 
I  left  Lyons  in  the  coupe,  over  a  grand  bridge,  and  went  down 
the  valley  into  the  Country  of  Pontius  Pilate,  but  in  a  fog  (bruy- 
hre)  too  dense  to  see  mountains  or  monuments  with  any  com- 
fort; and  it  fell  dark  about  4.30  o'clock,  and  I  sat  in  a  long  dream 
until  we  arrived  at  Valence  at  eight.  .  .  .  All  these  are  famous 
for  Protestant  sufferings,  for  the  country  of  the  South  is  the 
land  of  the  persecuted  Camisards,  the  scene  of  the  dragonades 
of  Louis.  .  .  .  Then  passing  Lorges  where  Onobarbus  defeated 
the  Celts,  you  approach  the  wonderful  Avignon,  with  its  many 
noble  churches,  its  long  and  high  and  perfect  ancient  fortifica- 
tions, its  elegant  suburbs  and,  above  all,  its  gigantic  palace  of 


460    ■  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvin 

the  popes  rising  like  a  magic  mountain  into  the  air.  Let  me 
die  in  Avignon !  * 

But  why  do  I  tell  all  this?  The  eye  grows  drunken,  and 
charges  the  memory  to  make  each  object  immortal.  But  picture 
follows  picture  so  rapidly  that  they  obliterate  each  other,  and 
all  the  soul  remembers  is,  that  it  has  been, — like  Paul,  through 
heaven,  and  seen  wonderful  things  that  it  is  against  the  laws  of 
language  to  relate.  .  .  . 

...  At  Nimes,  I  peeped  in  vain  down  the  streets,  as  we  flew 
past,  for  some  glimpse  of  the  Arena  or  the  Maison  Carree. 
Changing  cars  again  for  Alais,  we  backed  out  to  a  junction  and 
then  came  up  by  long  steep  grades  32  miles,  crossing  the  Gar- 
danne  twice,  and  passing  at  least  two  dozen  most  remarkable- 
looking  towns,  all  of  them  fortified,  usually  with  a  great  square 
tower  in  the  midst  and  a  church  beside.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Now  here  I  am,  in  two  cold  rooms,  but  with  a  fire,  and 
ready  for  bed.  To-morrow  morning  I  start  out  to  see  the  iron- 
works, and  learn  if  I  can  whether  the  Dod  process  is  to  be  our 
stumbling-stone.  France  is  a  great  country;  far  greater  than  the 
United  States;  far  more  advanced,  more  powerful  and  more  pro- 
gressive. Restoration,  embellishment,  establishment,  expansion, 
perfection,  stability,  liberty,  security,  instruction,  these  are  French 
expressions  for  national  life.  There  is  far  more  life  in  France 
than  in  the  United  States;  a  more  intense  and  energetic  dealing  by 
ideas  with  things.  Improvement  is  more  universal  than  with  us. 
The  immense  solidity  and  perfection  of  their  handy-work  perpet- 
ually amazes  me.  They  do  not  put  up  with  shifts  as  we  do. 
To  talk  of  France  exhausting  or  impoverishing  herself  by  war 
is  absurd.  400,000  young  men  come  of  age  every  year  in  France ! 
Every  railroad  cutting  is  walled!  They  spend  thousands  of 
dollars  where  we  spend  hundreds.  The  whole  empire  is  growing 
a  crop  of  bronze  statues!  Every  town  and  city  in  the  Kingdom 
is  rebuilding,  widening  its  streets,  restoring  its  edifices,  getting 
a  railroad  to  its  gates.  And  all  Europe  owns  that  France  is  the 
mistress  of  Europe.     She  rules  the  world.  .  .  . 


*  When  this  letter  was  received  and  read  aloud  at  home,  m}'  little 
sister,  a  child  of  about  six  years  old,  was  not  supposed  to  be  interested  in 
it  at  all,  but  a  few  days  later  our  old  friend  Dr.  Meigs  called  to  see  my 
mother,  and,  on  his  inquiring  after  my  father,  little  Meg  from  the  corner, 
where  she  was  playing  with  a  doll,  called  softly,  but  with  dramatic  effect, 
"Father  says,  'Let  me  die  in  Avignon!'"     This  much  amused  the  doctor. 


i863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  461 

NImes,  Thursday,  2  o'clock,  Nov.  19,  1863. 

...  I  was  afraid  to  arrive  at  Bordeaux  exhausted  by  night 
rides,  and  so  I  threw  away  a  day  in  order  to  get  two  good  nights' 
rest, — one  here  and  the  other  at  Carcassonne,  where  I  expect  to 
arrive  at  8.30,  and  whence  I  shall  depart  at  the  same  hour  to- 
morrow morning.  ...  I  ought  to  mention  particularly  the  great 
peak  de  St.  Loup  to  the  north  in  approaching  Montpellier,  with 
a  wonderful  precipice  of  1000  feet  (?)  towards  the  east;  the  pict- 
uresque approach  to  Cette,  over  the  long  sandy  Causeway  between 
the  blue  Mediterranean  and  the  Salt  lagoons,  with  the  port  full 
of  steamers  to  Algeria  and  the  Spanish  cities  on  the  left  as  we 
approached,  and  the  high  hill  (600  ft.)  behind  the  city  to  the 
right.  I  was  delighted  with  the  tall  pillar  memorial  to  Rinaud, 
the  engineer  of  the  great  canal,  on  a  pile  of  rocks,  to  the  right, 
as  we  passed  over  the  summit  level  of  the  great  plain  at  Segala; 
and  with  the  set  of  ridges  which  died  out  en  echelon  on  the  left, 
explaining  to  me,  what  I  never  understood  before,  the  connec- 
tion of  the  Pyrenees  with  the  Cevennes  and  Jura  mountains 
to  the  North. 

Saturday,  November  21,  1863. 

.  .  .  When  I  got  supper  at  Bordeaux,  I  wandered  out  to  find 
the  consul,  and  then  a  Protestant  minister.  .  .  .  He  told  me 
how  to  find  Jackson's  iron-works,  and  John  Best's  establishments 
at  Laforce;    but  I  resolved  to  go  first  to  Pau. 

So  Saturday  morning  I  was  flying  over  the  desolate  Landes, 
past  the  Bay  of  Arachon,  watching  out  for  shepherds  on  stilts, 
and  studying  the  low,  flat,  tiled  roofs  of  the  isolated  houses  on 
the  sands;  past  the  newly  bought  possessions  of  the  Emperor, 
with  his  new  villages,  new  farms,  new  churches  and  new  projects 
for  regenerating  this  great  wilderness  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay  Coast. 
I  passed  stacks  of  iron  ore,  piles  of  rails;  heard  of  lots  of  forges  to 
the  right  and  left;  swept  over  the  Adour  at  Dax  in  view  of  its 
castle  and  great  church;  past  Orthez  with  its  immense  town  of 
Moncade  (little  dreaming  of  the  Joys  in  store  for  me  at  its  foot), 
where  Gaston  Phoebus,  Count  of  Foix,  carried  his  lovely  mistress 
and  murdered  his  own  son,  and  died  himself;  up  the  lovely  Gare 
de  Pau,  and  was  met  at  the  railroad  depot  by  old  Father  Bost, 
to  whom  I  had  sent  a  flying  telegram  from  Monceaux  where  I 
dejeunered.  The  old  man  was  wild  with  excitement  all  through 
our  crowded  omnibus  drive  to  his  house,  taking  me  down  to  walk 
around  the  platform  of  the  terrace  of  Henri  IV.,  where  I  got  my 
view  of  the  Pyrenees;    but  I  had  been  enjoying  them  for  two 


462  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

hours  already  in  the  cars.  Oh,  what  glories!  Three  masses  of 
Alpine  forms,  three  worlds  of  rock  and  snow,  three  synods  of  the 
gods,  sitting  at  once,  in  celestial  dignity,  in  silence,  crowned  with 
clouds!  No  tongue  to  tell  the  magnificence  of  this  scene.  It 
excels  the  celebrated  view  of  the  Bernese  Oberland  from  the 
Dom  Platz  at  Berne.  .  .  . 


This  letter  describes  his  visit  to  his  friend  John  Bost  at 
his  Establishments  for  Incurables : — 

MoNPOirt:,  November  26,  1863. 

.  .  .  Approaching  Laforce,  we  began  to  descry,  on  the  top  of 
the  hillside  on  the  left  and  far  in  front,  the  white  houses  of  the 
Establishments,  and  when  we  came  abreast  of  them,  after  passing 
a  few  houses  in  a  line,  and  when  we  were  just  catching  a  glimpse 
of  the  spires  of  Bergerac,  still  10  Kilometres  ahead  of  us  on  the 
grand  route,  we  turned  sharp  to  the  left,  and  reaching  the  foot  of 
the  hills,  entered  a  ravine.  In  advance  of  the  shay,  I  walked 
up  the  winding  road,  behind  the  Establishment  above,  and  along 
a  street  of  nice,  white  houses,  old  and  quaint  however  as  all  the 
rest  in  this  country,  past  the  police  station,  and  found  my  way 
to  the  door  of  a  mansion,  where  John  Bost  lived  until  the  last 
two  years,  in  fact  the  manse  or  Parsonage.  A  little  elderly  soft- 
spoken  gentleman  in  blue  spectacles,  whom  I  learned  afterwards 
to  know  as  pastor  (I  forget  his  name),  Bost's  vicar,  lately  come, 
parleyed  with  me  awhile  and  sent  for  Mr.  Bost.  Meanwhile 
I  was  ushered  through  the  hall  into  a  large  room,  with  a  centre 
table  covered  with  a  few  pamphlets,  etc.,  and  a  fire.  Soon  a 
beautiful  face  came  in,  evidently  beaming  with  intelligence  and 
goodness  and  full  of  business,  and  took  my  hand  with  many 
questions;  first  of  all  f  I  had  received  his  letter  to  De  Kaseville; 
and  in  the  same  breath  told  me  he  had  got  one  that  morning  from 
his  mother,  telling  him  I  was  coming.  (Think  of  the  energy  and 
thoughtfulness  of  the  old  lady,  and  how  anxious  she  must  be  to 
please  me!)  But  still  John  did  not  know  me.  He  thought  I 
was  an  iron  merchant,  some  friend  of  Timothy's.  .  .  .  We  walked 
into  the  little  garden  behind  the  house.  The  sun  was  setting; 
they  led  me  to  the  edge  of  a  parapetted  precipice;  and  all  the 
world  of  the  Dordorgne  and  the  Garonne  Bay  stretched  before 
us;  one  of  the  great  scenes  of  the  world;  but  without  the  Pyre- 
nees. Oh,  how  I  longed  for  you!  Then  I  was  taken  by  John 
to  the  front  door,  and  we  arranged  to  have  the  driver  and  his 


i863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  463 

shay  stay  over  night,  and  take  me  on  to  Jackson's  iron-works  at 
nine  this  morning; — after  that  we  walked  arm  and  arm,  first  to 
one  place  then  to  another,  talking  together;  every  now  and  then 
meeting  some  group  of  children;  or  some  cripple;  or  some  queer 
old  crazy  man;  or  some  blind  girl;  or  some  "incurable";  to 
every  one  of  whom  John  put  some  pointed,  practical  question, 
as  to  how  they  were,  where  they  were  going,  what  they  had  just 
been  doing,  where  some  one  else  was;  or  gave  some  command, 
to  walk,  not  sit  in  the  damp,  to  go  back  home;  to  take  care  not 
to  fall;    or  sent  them  off.  .  .  . 

...  In  other  parts  of  the  hill,  he  showed  me  other  equally 
large  low  buildings  devoted  to  miserable  boys;  to  incurable  girls; 
to  epileptics,  by  themselves;  and  everywhere  I  found  gentle  and 
practical  matrons  presiding.  I  knew  not  how  to  wonder  enough 
at  the  skill  he  displayed  in  meeting  all  these  creatures — many 
of  them  half-restored  to  soundness  by  his  humanity  and  skill. 

Two  years  ago  the  French  Academy  at  Paris  awarded  him 
the  Prize  of  Virtue,  against  several  hundred  competitors, — to  him 
ignorant  of  the  whole  thing, — to  him  the  first  Protestant  to  whom 
it  had  ever  been  awarded.  .  .  . 

PAias,  December  i,  1863.     Tuesday. 

...  I  have  spent  all  yesterday  and  to-day  in  a  carriage  seeing 
the  Eliots,  Beckwiths,  Jackson,  Delesse,  Soeman,  Bossange, 
Rienwald,  Gruner,  Moigno,  photographers, — and  Aleck  with 
me  constantly.  I  have  got  more  iron  information;  but  all  of  the 
same  unsatisfactory  kind.  I  shall  go  off  now  to  Vienna  and  return 
by  Liege  to  London,  reaching  England  in,  say,  two  weeks.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Here  leaving  my  valise  (foolishly),  I  rode  alongside  of 
the  railroad  15  miles  west  to  St.  Leurin,  and  was  permitted  to 
see  the  steel -works  of  Jackson,  who  was  away;  but  I  could  obtain 
no  interview  with  Johnstone,  his  superintendent.  Here  I  found 
the  Bessemer  process  in  full  blast. 

Paris,  December  3,  1863.     Wediiesday. 

...  I  am  going  to-day  or  to-morrow  to  Pontoise,  and  Friday 
to  Wiesbaden;  thence  direct  to  Vienna  and  return  to  London  by 
Liege.  I  do  this  to  save  time.  It  would  not  be  right  for  me  to 
return  without  studying  the  German  side  of  the  subject,  and 
my  friend  Heidinger  is  chief  of  the  Geological  Survey  of  the 
Austrian  Empire,  and  very  anxious  to  do  all  he  can  for  me.  Tell 
Joe  that  a  few  days  in  Vienna  will  teach  us  the  chances  of  the 
patent  in  all  southern  Germany.     If  I  can  find  the  Krupp  Steel 


464  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

manufacture  on    the  Rhine,  I  will    have  no  need    to   go  into 
Silesia.  .  .  . 

Offenburg  on  the  Rhine,  Monday,  Dec.  8,  1863. 

.  .  .  Twenty  years  ago  I  leaned  over  the  bridge  at  Kehl,  and 
mused  on  the  rushing  waters; — did  the  river  remember  me  ?  How 
destitute  of  a  soul  is  nature!  How  brutal  are  all  its  forces!  And 
people  talk  of  the  religion  of  nature!  and  of  the  love  of  nature! 
as  if  it  were  not  our  loves  reflected  from  the  pool,  the  sky,  the 
mountain  side,  that  we  so  love. 

The  great  plain  of  France!  How  vast  a  platform  for  a 
nation  it  is!  I  have  just  gone  once  more  from  its  centre  to  its 
circumference, — from  Paris  to  Saarburg.  No  wonder  that  such 
a  people  are  mighty,  with  a  unity  of  intelligence  and  will  that 
is  irresistible.  There  is  not  a  barrier  of  any  kind  from  the  granite 
hills  of  Britanny  on  the  west,  to  the  Devonian  range  of  the  Cote 
d'Or  and  Vosges  on  the  east;  from  the  swamps  of  the  Rhine- 
mouth  to  the  volcanic  plateaus  of  Auvergne.  Paris  is  the  natural 
centre  of  this  vast  field  of  wealth  and  population,  the  boss  to 
this  glorious  shield,  held  always  flaming  in  the  face  of  the  na- 
tions. The  valleys  of  the  Rhine  and  the  Rhone  are  no  parts  of 
France.  .  ,  . 

Tuesday,  December  9,  1863. 

...  I  have  had  a  most  interesting  day;  although  I  have 
neither  seen  sun  nor  earth,  for  a  dense  fog  has  hung  upon  the 
muddy  plain  of  the  Rhine  and  perhaps  over  all  Europe.  .  .  . 
But  after  breakfast  at  the  Black  Eagle,  I  was  driven  in  the  omnibus 
to  Mr.  Chas.  Schinz's  house,  where  he  received  me,  upstairs, 
in  his  "bureau"  or  engineer's  rooms,  very  cordially;  read  Dr. 
Genth's  letter;  and  showed  me  first  his  glass  factory  furnaces 
in  course  of  erection,  close  by;  and  afterwards  his  plans  for  the 
application  of  the  generator  and  regulator  to  the  exactly  proper 
production  of  carbonic  oxide  from  coal  for  heating  and  melting 
purposes.  He  has  erected  one  in  Belgium,  in  Wiirtemberg,  in 
Bavaria,  in  Russia,  two  in  Switzerland  and  now  is  erecting  one 
in  Baden.     It  is  a  great  step  in  advance  in  metallurgy.  .  . 

...  I  had  many  interesting  discussions  with  M.  Schinz, 
who  is  an  honest,  thorough,  gentle,  energetic  man,  about  the 
difference  between  the  English,  Americans,  French  and  Germans 
and  Italians,  on  the  score  of  work.  He  dislikes  the  Germans; 
he  is  a  Swiss  himself;  he  likes  the  French;  but  says  the  English 
are  still  better;   and  the  Americans  better  than  all.     One  Ameri- 


1863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO   EUROPE  465 

can  bricklayer  will  do  the  work  of  seven  Germans  here.  The 
Rouen  and  Paris  Railroad  employed  solely  English  hands,  and 
paid  them  double  wages;  yet  the  economy  was  40  per  cent!  .  .  . 
We  talked  German  and  English,  as  it  happened.  It  is  good 
to  get  where  I  don't  have  to  break  my  head  over  the  French, 
which  I  never,  no  never,  no  never  will  learn.  But  I  miss  the 
gentle  and  polite  ways  of  the  French;  their  affectionateness 
and  their  good  taste.  Here  all  is  jabber,  slobber  and  tobacco 
smoke.  I  have  just  returned  from  the  theatre.  What  a  contrast ! 
Ye  Gods  (in  Paris)  and  little  fishes  (here)!  There — all  tasty 
and  trim,  elegant  diction,  neat  wit,  courteous  audience; — Here 
— all  dirty  and  crowded  and  gaudy,  tawdry,  fustian,  brutal  and 
coarse.  .  .  . 

Wednesday,  December  10,  1863. 

.  .  .  The  ride  down  the  Neckar  to  Ludwigsstadt,  and  then 
up  to  Stuttgart  delighted  me;  but  far  more  the  exquisite  valley 
of  the  Raus  from  Stuttgart  east  toward  Nordlingen,  where  I  expect 
to  spend  the  night.  It  is  through  a  country  of  low  hills,  rising 
gradually  to  about  2000  feet  above  the  sea,  with  hills  at  least 
1000  feet  higher,  covered  with  pine  woods.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  But  what  are  these  dead  walls  and  bloody  histories  of 
oppression,  to  compare  with  the  glorious  image  of  Christ  in  the 
Hospital  Church  at  Stuttgart!  Dannecker's  Christ!  the  statue 
of  statues! 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  knew  what  idolatry  meant — the 
worship  of  the  man  in  his  image.  Such  dignity,  such  sweetness, 
such  humanity,  simplicity,  beauty  of  form,  winsomeness  of  gest- 
ure, such  divine  purity,  never  were  portrayed  together  before. 
Other  statues  fall  below  their  reputation;  this  only  of  all  I  have 
seen,  rises  above  it.  It  is  clay.  The  marble  is  at  St.  Peters- 
burg. .  .  . 

I  ride  alone,  everywhere  alone,  in  the  first-class  car,  musing, 
reading,  making  notes,  planning,  smoking  now  and  then  when 
I  wish  to  descend  from  the  clouds. 

From  Stuttgart  I  went  by  railroad  to  Aalen,  and  got  a  car- 
riage one  mile  to  the  Iron  Works  of  Wasseralfingen,  where  I 
had  to  stay  five  hours,  until  9,  and  arrived  at  Nordlingen  all 
worn  out  at  10.30. 

Here  at  the  iron-works  I  was  excellently  well  received  by 
young  Gmelin,  the  former  director  of  the  Mt.  Savage  works  in 
America. 


466  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

WiEN,  Saturday,  December  12,  1863. 

.  .  .  After  arriving  at  the  southern  side  of  the  outer  city,  and 
traversing  the  wide  Boulevards  to  St.  Stephen's  central  place,  in 
the  omnibus,  and  walking  to  the  Erzherzog  Carl  Hotel,  where  I 
found  a  letter  from  Aleck  and  the  good  news  of  Grant's  victory 
over  Bragg  (alas  for  the  hearts  again  broken!),  I  took  a  carriage 
out  of  the  city  eastward  to  the  Lichtenstein  palace,  where  I  ex- 
pected to  find  Heidinger,  in  the  geological  museum,  but  I  had  to 
drive  south  to  the  Elizabeth  palace,  where  he  received  me  with 
open  arms  and  a  merry  laugh,  and  introduced  me  to  his  two 
daughters.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Then  I  drove  to  see  Lothrop  Motley  and  found  him  a 
great  enthusiast — not  a  bit  of  a  diplomat.  And  with  him  was  a 
Mr.  Ed.  D.  H ,  of  Milwaukee,  a  better  sort  of  western  mer- 
chant, chuck  full  of  patriotism  and  common  sense,  without  having 
been  spoiled  by  a  "liberal  education."  We  had  a  grand  jollifica- 
tion together — we  three.  I  drove  H.  to  his  hotel,  and  promised 
to  try  to  go  with  him  on  the  road  to  Trieste  Monday.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Then  I  drove  to  the  L.  Palace  again  (stopping  in  at  St. 
Stephen's  on  my  way)  and  had  a  long  talk  with  Fotterle,  Heid- 
inger's  right-hand  man,  who  told  me  all  about  all  the  iron-works 
in  Styria,  Carinthia,  Bohemia  and  Moravia.  Returning  to  dine  at 
the  hotel,  F.  came  for  me  and  I  drove  him  to  Heidinger's,  where 
we  made  a  most  merry  tea-party,  with  the  addition  of  an  Edin- 
burgh medical  student,  Russell,  and  another  of  the  gentlemen  of 
the  Survey  of  the  Empire,  M.  Von  Hauer.  .  .  . 

Austria  is  the  natural  home  of  Catholic  Romanism.  You 
descend  the  Danube  towards  the  east,  and  the  gorgeous  mytho- 
logical radiance  from  the  eastern  world  grows  deeper  and  stronger 
as  you  advance.  The  enormous  palatial  monastery  of  Molk, 
with  its  princely  cathedral,  towering  above  it  out  of  its  midst,  is 
one  of  the  great  visions  of  this  mythology  which  greets  the  trav- 
eller descending  the  Danube  towards  Vienna.  But  right  and 
left,  among  the  mountains  are  still  more  celebrated,  vast  and 
wealthy  shrines.  One  understands  at  last  why  these  great  re- 
ligions last  from  millennium  to  millennium,  indestructible  and  un- 
changeable. Hundreds  of  millions  of  souls  were  born  into  them, 
and  pass  through  out  from  them  again  into  the  unknown  world, 
every  century.  Like  the  giants  of  the  forest,  they  have  charmed 
lives;  and  parasitic  forms  spring  into  being  on  their  barks  and 
among  their  boughs,  and  perish  from  them,  as  mere  accidents  of 
variety.  To  change  such  religions  is  impossible.  Proselytism 
is  mere  parasitism.     Here  one  can  study  the  length  of  traditions. 


i863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  467 

Venus  becomes  Mary,  but  continues  Venus  still.  The  orgies  of 
the  Druids  are  repeated  in  the  woods  of  Marienzell  every  summer 
still.  Adonis'  and  Bacchus'  songs  are  sung  in  Vienna  on  Sunday, 
December  13,  1863.  I  heard  them  myself  to-day  at  one  o'clock 
in  the  great  Redatta  Hall,  where  200  or  300  men  stood  up  to- 
gether between  the  Imperial  Orchestra  and  a  vast  audience,  sing- 
ing, to  the  music  of  Schubert  and  Mendelssohn,  wine  and  love 
songs.  The  first  piece  was  from  the  heathen  Edda,  set  to  music 
by  Ferd.  Hiller.  It  is  an  invocation  to  All  Kraft,  ...  the  Pan- 
Life  of  Germany,  calling  on  fire  to  give  unity  and  a  happy  future 
to  the  fatherland.  Hear  it  once,  and  you  will  feel  the  heathenism 
of  the  people. 

"Men!    All  together! 
Join  the  choir — in  the  night! 
Crackle,  O  flames. 
Mounting  upward — in  the  night! 
Eternal  Power,  Wodan's  fire! 
Stream  down  on  us  and  illuminate  us  yet  more! 
Fire  is  freedom, 
Joy  and  curse — in  the  night! 
Write  this  trinity 

Furthermore  in  the  book — in  the  night! 
Fire  runes  on  the  mountains  clear, 
Fire  runes  from  year  to  year. 
Fire  is  truth, 

It  eats  up  deceit — in  the  night! 
It  shines  forth  in  clearness; 
That  is  the  curse — in  the  night! 
Cursing  the  bad,  cursing  the  mean, 
Eternal  curse  through  all  lands. 
Freedom  and  joy; 
Conquering  may — in  the  night! 
Ye  are  both  one; 
Come  hither — in  the  night! 
A  resurrection,  yes,  a  resurrection. 
Must  go  through  woods  and  nations!" 

No  one  can  fail  to  feel  the  intense  nationalism  of  the  German 
fancy.  I  say  fancy,  for  I  see  no  evidence  of  a  deeper  penetration 
of  the  German  nature.  It  is  a  hopeless  swan-song  always.  They 
say  themselves:  we  have  no  unity,  we  can  accomplish  nothing; 
Litde  Denmark  pulls  Germany's  great  nose  with  impunity.    All 


468  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

other  nations  make  themselves  free — we  only  sing  and  dream  of 
liberty. 

Poor  fellows,  they  have  a  half  comprehension  that  the  moun- 
tains split  up  Germany,  more  irresistibly  and  inexorably  than 
princecraft  or  priestcraft.  There  is  no  unity  possible  for  Ger- 
many. Never  will  Germany  be  a  nation.  Never.  I  have  been 
studying  to-day  in  the  geological  rooms  (a  magnificent  museum), 
with  Fotterle,  the  marvellous  maps  they  have  been  making  of 
Bohemia,  of  Styria,  of  Hungary,  etc.  Each  is  a  vast  plain,  sur- 
rounded by  Alps.  Each  has  a  language,  a  religion,  a  history  of 
its  own. 

Yet  they  dream  of  Union  and  Unity!  And  call  themselves 
philosophers!  Even  Hungary  can  never  become  free.  I  believe 
it  now.  The  Academy  at  Buda  publish  altogether  in  Magyar! 
There  is  also  an  inextinguishable  aptitude  for  Absolutism  and 
Aristocracy  here.  Democracy  is  also  a  dream.  It  is  a  vast  crowd 
of  flunkies,  who  sing  of  the  innate  nobility — the  future-acquired 
dignity  of  the  independent  man, — and  thereby  of  the  free  nation! 

I  never  so  clearly  saw  the  majestic  form  of  American  liberty. 
Her  throne — a  new  world;  her  charter,  the  sunshine  and  wind  of 
the  forest  and  the  prairie;  her  guards,  the  free  school,  the  free 
church,  the  free  poll;  her  birthplace  the  log  cabin,  her  palace  the 
great  future.  Christ  and  Columbia  are  the  two  names  vsritten 
in  the  eastern  and  western  heavens. 

And  yet — God  has  been  always  kind  to  man.  I  find  here, 
and  everywhere  else,  beauty,  happiness,  intelligence,  industry, 
and  virtue;  the  fine  arts,  the  mechanic  arts,  science  and  poetry. 
What  more  vdll  you  have?  I  could  live  in  happiness  anywhere. 
Why  are  so  many  anxious  and  so  many  inflamed,  and  so  many 
desponding?  Because  Excelsior  is  also  in  the  grammar  which 
God  teaches  everywhere  to  man.  And  this,  after  all,  is  the 
guarantee.  To  better  one's  self — is  the  first  law  of  every  man's 
life. 

Sunday,  December  13,  1863. 

I  drove  to  St.  Stephen's  on  my  way  to  the  Geological  rooms 
in  the  Lichtenstein  palace,  in  the  east  suburb,  where  Fotterle  led 
me  through  all  the  cold  rooms,  and  finally  into  the  laboratory 
where  Von  Hauer  was,  and  his  brother  came  in  afterwards.  In 
the  collection  I  saw  a  magnificent  square  table  slab  just  i  Klofter 
(6  ft.  2  in.)  square;  a  splendid  Lepidodendron  Sternhergii,  that 
made  my  eyes  water;  a  splendid  flabellaria;  splendid  rock  crystals 
and  felspar  crystal  with  rock  crystals  projecting;  whole  cases  full 


i863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  469 

of  fossil  insects, — of  fish — the  finest  I  ever  saw;  a  room  side  full 
of  coals  of  all  kinds,  the  best  being  60%  carbon,  2%  ash;  but  above 
all  glorious  maps  colored  by  hand  (each  worth  80  dollars);  the 
one  of  Bohemia,  8  feet  square  looking  like  an  opal.  Over  or 
before  these  maps  we  discussed  the  structure  of  the  Alps,  and 
the  nature  of  the  double  trachyte  and  basalt  ejections.  F.  says 
the  real  backbone  of  the  Alps  is  underground,  and  has  never  been 
seen;  and  that  trachyte  is  always  older  than  the  basalt,  coming  up 
first,  because  lighter,  being  an  acid  lava,  while  basalt  is  a  haric 
lava.  In  any  given  epoch  both  are  emitted,  but  always  the  basalt 
last.  It  always  cuts  trachyte;  just  as  porphyry  cuts  augite.  The 
Alps  he  showed  me  to  be  truly  anticlinal;  but  the  two  great  lines, 
parallel,  through  Carinthia  and  Styria.  He  showed  me  that  the 
little  Carpaths  were  the  continuation  of  the  Styrian  Alps  across 
the  Danube  at  Presburg. 

We  parted  with  the  imderstanding  that  we  should  meet  on 
my  return  from  the  iron-works  of  Styria.  You  will  be  surprised 
at  my  resolution  to  go  towards  Trieste.  But  I  cannot  help  it. 
I  must  see  M.  Tunner  at  Leoben,  the  head  of  the  school  of  mines 
there.  The  valley  of  the  Mur  is  Uke  that  of  the  Gere  in  France. 
I  must  see  it.  The  Bessemer  process  is  there  begun.  I  shall 
take  the  fast  train  on  Tuesday  (there  is  none  to-morrow),  and 
return  next  day.  Thursday  I  slip  off  to  Prag,  Friday  to  Halle, 
Saturday  to  Coin.  I  am  so  late  already  that  I  shall  be  detained 
in  England  imtil  Allen  [his  brother  Allen  Lesley]  arrives  on  the 
4th,  when  I  shall  take  the  first  steamer  after  that  home. 

On  my  way  back  from  the  Palace  I  went  to  hear  the  Manner- 
chor  sing  at  the  great  Redoutensaal,  in  the  Imperial  Palace 
(Hofburg),  and  stood  through  several  songs;  but  ah,  Susie  dear, 
what  is  man  without  woman!  The  music  had  in  itself  a  sort 
of  perfection;  but  man's  music  without  the  voice  of  woman  is 
daylight  without  the  sun,  moimtains  without  chalets,  meadows 
without  water,  the  night  sky  without  stars,  the  ocean  without  ships, 
science  without  religion,  jiistice  without  love.  A  heroic  chorus 
of  soldiers  or  hunters  in  an  opera  is  fine,  for  a  moment,  but  only 
as  grand  basis  for  the  chorus  of  maidens,  or  the  solos  and  duets 
and  trios,  which  carry  the  real  story  to  the  heart.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  After  breakfasting  at  3  o'clock,  I  rode  over  to  call  again 
on  Motley,  who  seemed  glad  to  see  me  again,  and  invited  me  to  a 
family  dinner  at  5.30  to-morrow.  I  shall  go.  He  is  a  little 
too  enthusiastic,  and  I  can  see  why  some  one  spoke  of  him  with  a 
little  contempt;  for  they  think  an  ambassador  ought  to  be  staid 
and  dignified.     He  reminds  me  forcibly  of  George  [Wm.]  Curtis 


470  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvm 

of  Staten  Island,  and  of  Prof.  Peirce— if  you  can  imagine  such  a 
curious  combination.     Yet  it  is  just  that;   and  yet  I  like  him. 

Returning,  I  stopped  at  the  Carl  Church,  a  curious,  vast, 
Italian  pile,  with  an  enormous  oval  dome,  and  no  nave,  with  two 
towers,  and  two  minarets,  siu-rounded  with  bas-reliefs  of  the  life 
of  Carl  Borromeo.  As  I  entered,  the  organ  was  playing,  and 
the  whole  congregation  singing  as  if  to  itself  (I  cannot  otherwise 
express  the  strange  effect),  a  sweet  vesper  hymn.  Oh,  how  sweet 
it  was!  Here  and  there  the  people  had  stuck  little  candles  on 
their  pew  doors,  or  had  little  boys  to  hold  them,  so  as  to  see 
to  read  the  hymn  they  sang,  for  the  church  was  quite  dark,  except 
the  candles  at  the  great  altar,  and  in  the  shrines.  .  .  . 

Monday,  December  14,  1863. 

.  .  .  After  writing  the  above,  I  began  my  day's  work,  drew  20 
pounds  from  the  nice  old  banker  Henrickstein;  had  a  long  and 
pleasant  call  at  St.  Stephen's  and  saw  the  stock  in  Eisen,  the 
stump  of  the  tree, — the  last  relic  of  the  primeval  forest  which 
once  covered  the  place  where  Vienna  stands,  so  full  of  nails 
driven  in  for  good  luck,  by  apprentices,  setting  out  on  their 
travels,  that  it  is  a  mass  of  iron.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  After  dinner  I  wrote,  and  went  out  to  buy  charts  at 
Artaria's,  with  whom  (the  yoimg  man)  I  had  a  two  hours'  dis- 
cussion of  American  affairs  and  guns.  He  would  not  let  me  go. 
He  says  Europe  will  also  be  free  in  10  years.  Then  to  a  charm- 
ingly pleasant  dinner  with  Motley,  his  wife  and  three  daughters, 
with  three  Uveries  circulating  round  the  table.  Then  to  the 
opera  with  the  ladies  and  so  to  bed.  .  .  . 

Peag,  December  18,  1863.     Friday  evening.  . 

...  At  Bruck,  where  I  took  a  voiture  (out  of  a  many  who 
fought  for  my  patronage),  10  miles  further  to  Leoben,  arriving  at 
8  o'clock.  I  sent  my  card  to  Mr.  Tunner,  and  took  my  chocolate 
and  steak  at  the  end  of  a  triple-vaulted  restaurant,  where  a 
raised  table  covered  with  a  cloth  was  prepared  for  some  strolling 
singers.  The  landlord  directed  me  then  three  doors  distant,  and 
upstairs  to  a  casino,  wherein  I  found  Mr.  Tunner  at  the  end  of 
a  long  table,  at  which  20  persons  were  drinking  beer  and  smok- 
ing. We  were  soon  deep  in  the  black  art  and  he  grew  cordial 
and  communicative.  I  like  him  exceedingly.  He  is  a  practical 
rather  than  a  theoretical  professor,  and  was  picked  out  by  the 
Archduke  MaximiUan  for  that  reason.     He  makes  the  students 


i863  SECOND   VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  471 

wind  up  their  course  by  going  into  the  works,  and  puddling 
iron  with  their  own  arms,  until  they  comprehend  it  all. 

Wednesday  morning,  December  16th. 

My  Kutscher  was  ready  at  quarter  to  eight,  and  drove  me 
to  the  Academy,  where  Tunner  showed  me  his  own  cabinet 
of  iron  and  steel,  crystals,  etc.,  Bessemer  products  and  curiously 
fine  wire,  etc.,  for  half  an  hour,  until  we  were  both  nearly  frozen, 
altho'  I  had  my  fur  robe  on.  Then  he  had  his  first  lesson  to 
give  and  I  had  only  just  time  to  ride  down  the  beautiful  valley 
of  the  Mur,  back,  the  ten  miles  to  Bruck,  to  catch  the  train  from 
Trieste.    We  just  did  it. 

Thursday,  December  19,  1863. 

o  .  .  My  journey  to  Prag  was  a  finisher.  It  lasted  14  hours 
and  we  sat  a  long  time  a  quarter  mile  from  Prag,  because  the 
movement  of  troops  towards  Dresden  (Schleswig-Holstein) 
blocked  up  the  depot.  I  got  a  good  sleep  in  the  bottom  of  the 
coupe  at  starting,  and  when  I  sat  up  I  had  nothing  but  the  vast 
plain  of  Wagram  and  Austerlitz  to  look  at,  until  we  struck  the 
north  border  hills  at  Briinn,  the  castle  and  church  of  which  are 
on  two  eddy  hills  in  front  of  the  valley  of  the  Zwitta,  up  which 
our  road  lay.  How  well  I  shall  remember  that  scene.  In  that 
castle  lay  the  Baron  Trenck*  of  my  young  days,  and  Silvio  Pellico, 
whose  fate  has  so  often  touched  yoirr  heart.  .  .  .  The  church  of 
St.  Peter  is  a  grand  object  on  its  pedestal.  .  .  .  The  appearance 
of  industry  about  this  capital  of  Moravia  gives  you  a  foretaste 
of  what  you  will  notice  everywhere  from  here  northward.  Its 
innumerable  chimneys  and  great  factories,  which  make  it  the 
Leeds  of  Austria,  are  only  the  beginning  of  a  long  line  of  villages 
and  factories,  along  the  beautiful  and  often  most  romantically 
picturesque  valley.  .  .  . 

CoLN,  December  22,  1863.     Tuesday. 

...  As  I  sat  in  the  Dom  this  morning,  one  of  those  broad 
bursts  of  illumination  enwrapped  my  spirit,  and  I  understood 
anew  the  universal  religion,  the  community  of  worships,  based 
on  the  symbolic  analysis  of  the  instinct  of  adoration.  Well  do 
the  Germans  call  the  science  of  the  history  of  religions  '^Sym- 
holik." 

*  Baron  Franz  von  der  Trenck,  born  at  Reggio,  Calabria,  January 
I,  1711.  Died  at  Briinn,  Moravia,  October  14,  1749.  An  Austrian  officer 
and  adventurer. 


472  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

Why  then  do  we  condemn  idolatry?  Because  the  genius  of 
symbolism  is  the  hunger  of  the  soul  for  its  like,  and  worship  is  the 
feeding  of  the  soul  on  that  by  which  it  grows.  If  then  it  feeds 
on  the  vile,  it  becomes  vile;  if  it  worships  "idols,"  in  the  icono- 
clast sense,  it  becomes  brutal,  savage,  mean.  But  is  the  universal 
worship  of  the  dear  Christ,  of  the  sweet  Mary,  of  the  patient  cross, 
of  the  noble  prophets,  apostles  and  martyrs,  of  the  assisting  angels, 
whose  images  are  everywhere  in  sight  in  this  old  world — of  that 
degrading  kind  ?  This  is  then  not  idolatry.  It  must  better  the 
souls  ©f  these  millions,  I  feel  sure.  But  I  can  no  longer  vsrrite  my 
thoughts,  as  formerly,  I  know  not  why.  It  is  a  great  labor.  I 
dream  more  and  talk  less.  I  think  more  and  write  less.  Good 
for  myself,  good  for  others.    Where  did  I  leave  off  my  Journal  ? 

Sunday  Morning,  Dec.  20th.    Halle. 

My  journey  from  Prag,  I  recounted  in  my  last  letter.  .  .  . 
It  was  enlivened  by  pleasant  fellow-passengers.  On  arriving 
I  supped  and  went  to  see  Prof.  Tholuck  and  his  wife  and  amanu- 
ensis, young  Unruhe,  with  whom  I  took  tea.  Mrs.  Tholuck 
is  very  sweet,  but  5  years  ago  was  at  death's  door,  and  has  never 
recovered  from  the  shock.  He  is  more  quiet,  but  as  living  as 
ever.     They  received  me  with  the  utmost  cordiality.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Then  I  went  to  see  Erdman.  You  would  have  laughed 
at  his  enthusiasm.  He  danced — he  shook  hands  a  dozen  times — 
he  made  me  stay  to  dinner,  see  his  wife,  drink  wine,  tell  stories, 
and  followed  me  into  the  street.  I  was  equally  enchanted  to  be 
with  them  again,  good  people,  nice  people.  "No  damn  nonsense 
about  them."  She  talks  English  elegantly  and  is  a  real  philoso- 
pher's wife;   how  you  would  get  to  love  her! 

At  4  o'clock  I  went  back  to  walk  with  Tholuck  in  his  portico 
at  the  rear  of  the  garden,  looking  through  on  to  the  promenade 
and  opposite  Erdman's  house;  the  new  one  he  has  bought,  not 
the  old  one  in  which  we  both  lived;  Schultz's.  Tholuck  and  I 
discussed  the  religious  state  of  Germany,  the  reaction  first  against 
Hegelianism  in  favor  of  materialism,  in  behalf  of  accurate  science 
(physical);  and  secondly  against  pietism  in  behalf  of  infidelity, 
on  account  of  the  alliance  of  pietism  with  state  absolutism.  He 
told  me  that  Bruno  Bauer  was  converted  and  had  become  a 
preacher  of  conservatism  in  state  and  church!  He  said  also  that 
Erdman  had  lost  many  scholars.  Erdman  had  told  me  how 
the  desire  for  metaphysical  enlightenment  had  become  converted 
into  a  love  of  exact  science. 


i863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  473 

I  had  intended  to  leave  for  Coin  by  the  night  train;  but  was 
too  tired.  The  ride  through  Magdeburg,  Braunschweig,  Hanover, 
through  the  Porta,  or  gate  of  the  Weser,  where  the  river  breaks 
through  a  ridge  like  our  Sharp  or  Blue  Mountain,  and  past  the 
coal  mines  and  iron- works,  linen  factories,  zinc- works,  etc.,  of 
the  prosperous  country  east  of  the  Rhine  was  very  agreeable. 

Three  most  pleasant  and  enlightened  men  made  the  journey 
shorter,  and  an  adventure  I  had  with  a  Texan  Quartermaster 
from  Matamoras  amused  us  for  a  long  time.  He  wore  blue, 
and  a  broad  hat.  I  addressed  him,  and  he  immediately  proposed 
a  drink,  and  I  as  a  toast,  "Speedy  Peace."  .  .  . 

Tuesday,  December  22. 

. . ,  Ch.  Aubel  spent  from  3  to  5  with  me  at  the  Hotel,  and  went 
to  the  railroad  station  to  see  me  off.  His  conversation  was  ex- 
ceedingly interesting  and  important  to  me.  He  is  28;  has  built 
three  Rachette  furnaces  in  the  Ural;  a  Bessemer  three- ton  flask 
there;  a  Rachette  copper  furnace  in  Bavaria;  will  finish  one  for 
iron  here  in  three  weeks  and  begin  one  in  the  Harz.  ...  I  arri\'ed 
at  Verviers  at  8.30,  by  a  lovely,  enchanting  moonlight  ride  down 
the  wonderful  valley,  through  tunnels,  over  bridges,  past  many 
great  factories  and  villages,  all  alight,  and  was  received  with  open 
arms  by  Theophile  Bost,  his  lovely  wife  and  sister.  .  .  . 

London,  December  26,  1863. 

.  .  .  My  last  was  written,  at  Coin;  from  which  place  I  went 
to  Verviers,  by  rail,  after  5  o'clock,  so  that  I  only  caught  glimpses 
of  the  beautiful  valley,  full  of  rocks,  bridges,  and  manufacturing 
villages.  Theophile  Bost  met  me  at  the  depot,  and  we  walked 
in  a  sort  of  snow-storm,  through  the  city,  over  the  bridge,  and  up 
broad  steps  to  his  house,  under  the  same  roof  with  a  nice  little 
church;  one  of  the  cosiest,  prettiest,  little  things  you  ever  saw. 
He  has  had  his  own  troubles,  and  half  his  congregation  left  him, 
because  he  was  a  little  radical,  but  the  conservative  pasteitr  who 
came  to  take  charge  of  them,  treats  him  with  cordiality,  and  all 
seems  to  go  on  well.  When  we  meet,  I  can  give  you  an  account 
of  the  curious  movement  towards  a  rationalism  like  that  of  the 
best  Unitarians  in  New  England,  among  the  French  free  church 
ministers.  The  gradations  and  modifications  are  curious  to 
examine.  I  have  seen  the  cake  in  all  stages  of  baking,  from  not 
yet  risen  to  done  beautifully  brown.     But  more  of  this  anon. . . . 


474 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS 


CHAP.  XVIII 


Sheffield,  January  7,  1864. 

.  .  .  Jan.  I,  1864,  I  spent,  as  I  wrote  you,  in  the  shops  of 
Sir  Wm.  Armstrong  at  Newcastle,  on  my  return  from  Glasgow. 
Capt.  Noble  was  extremely  courteous  and  took  the  breech-loaders 
to  pieces  to  exhibit  them. 

.  .  .  After  dinner  I  pushed  on  to  Crewe,  crossing  the  great 
coal  and  iron  field  of  England,  through  a  wonderful  succession 
of  factory  villages  or  rather  cities,  situated  like  the  Belgian,  in 
deep  glens,  among  hills.  .  .  . 

Sunday,  Jan.  3,  1864. 

...  In  London  I  got  letters  from  Berthoud  of  Paris,  and  the 
picture  he  made  for  Lesquereux.  I  had  long  talks  with  Mrs. 
Blackwell  about  the  maps,  and  with  Trtibner  about  Maury's 
sailing  directions.  I  sealed  the  English  patent,  and  paid  up 
Carmichael  &  Co.  Bought  some  presents  for  the  Whites,  and 
intended  to  get  away  Wednesday  morning  to  Sheffield  and  Dur- 
ham. But  at  the  geological  rooms,  Ramsay  made  me  promise 
to  stay  to  the  club  dinner  of  the  Geological  Society,  and  to  the 
meeting  on  Wednesday ;  which  I  did.     We  were  seated  thus: — 


rt 


David 
Forbes 


Lesley 


Sir  Rod  I. 

Murchison 

Lord 
Enniskellen 


Selwyn 


John 
Evans 


Sir  Charles 
Lyell 

Capt.  Galton 


Rupert 
Jones 

Smyth 


Falconer 


Bigsby 


ffl 


I  forget  the  rest.  Ramsay  is  President  of  the  Society  and 
Hamilton,  perpetual  Secretary.  Smyth  is  Clerk.  Evans  is  the 
great  Geological  Antiquary,  and  has  proved  the  forgeries  at 
Abbeville,  and  disproved  the  jaw.  Forbes  has  been  5  years 
in  South  America,  and  just  returned  from  Sweden.  Selwyn  is 
the  Australasian  geologist.  Lord  Enniskellen  has  the  finest  col- 
lection of  fossil  fish  in  the  world; — I  promised  him  some  from 
America.  Falconer  is  great  on  Indian  fossils,  and  a  fine,  great, 
noble,  generous  fellow.  .  .  .  There  was  a  paper  on  peat,  and  re- 
mains, at  the  Society  in  Somerset  House,  which  elicited  speeches. 
I  was  so  cold  that  I  came  away  while  they  were  reading  one  on 
the  coral  crag. 

I  spent  an  hour  with  Lyell,  and  gave  him  Desor's  letters  to 
read,  sent  me  by  Berthoud,  yesterday. 

I  spent  two  hours  with  Sabine  and  Mrs.  Sabine;  full  of 
interest. 

.  .  ,  To-morrow  at  quarter  of  ten  I  am  to  see  the  Bessemer 


i863  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  475 

steel  made,  and  then  go  to  Rotherham  to  Dodd's,  and  then  to 
Liverpool.  .  .  . 

The  following  are  extracts  from  my  mother's  letters 
during  the  same  period: — 

Cambridge,  Oct.  8,  1863.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  enclose  for  you  old  Josiah  Quincy's  letter.  What  a 
thing  to  be  able  to  write  like  that  at  ninety-one  years  old!  Our 
President's  Proclamation  for  the  National  Thanksgiving,  to 
take  place  on  the  same  day  that  the  States  had  appointed,  is 
very  fine.  What  an  affection  all  feel  for  Abraham!  I  hear  that 
Sir  Henry  Holland  was  enchanted  with  him.  .  .  . 

Cambridge,  October  18,  1863. 

...  I  have  just  sent  into  Boston  by  Chauncey  for  a  season 
ticket  to  the  Parker  Fraternity  Lectures,  for  Aunt  Kitty  and 
myself.  So  I  shall  hear  Emerson,  and  Beecher,  and  all  the  rest. 
To-morrow  I  have  promised  to  assist  Mary  Howe  in  making 
sheets  for  the  Hospitals.  There  is  a  loud  call  from  the  Sanitary 
in  all  the  papers,  and  many  thousand  must  be  ready  by  Friday. 
Chauncey  has  just  been  in  and  read  me  a  very  fine  letter  that 
John  Forbes  received,  from  the  Editor  of  the  Spectator  in  London, 
expressing  deep  interest  in  our  cause.  .  .  . 

Cambridge,  October  20,  1863. 

.  .  .  Sunday  morning,  Chauncey  called  for  me,  and  Aunt 
Kitty,  Meg  and  I,  all  went  up  to  Watertown  in  the  horse-cars, 
to  hear  Mr.  Weiss  preach  his  first  sermon  after  returning.  His 
tribute  to  the  sea  would  have  met  your  views  exactly.  Nothing 
about  it  fine,  he  declared,  except  the  coast  line.  He  considers 
the  ocean  a  great  mistake.  Let  us  hope,  he  said  quaintly,  that 
the  rising  of  the  continents  in  various  places  is  a  prophecy  of 
that  Millennial  period,  when  there  will  be  no  more  sea.  He  had 
much  to  say  of  England,  and  her  position  towards  us.  It  seemed 
to  me  a  very  fair  statement  of  the  English  character  as  I  imagine 
it,  slow,  stable  and  conservative  to  the  last  degree,  but  always 
able  to  back  out  of  a  false  position  at  precisely  the  right  moment. 
He  described  the  people  as  having  the  forms  of  men,  but  the 
faces  of  boys.  He  urged  the  maintaining  of  peace  with  Eng- 
land on  accoimt  of  the  people,  the  masses  of  England,  who  are 
all  on  our  side,  and  who  in  case  of  war  would  necessarily  be  con- 


476  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xvni 

solidated  round  the  Government,  which  would  be  a  great  mis- 
fortune, both  to  them  and  to  humanity  everywhere.  Told 
how  universally  the  London  Daily  News  and  the  Star  are  taken 
throughout  the  kingdom,  and  how  splendid  the  editorials  are; 
that  they  might  any  of  them  have  been  written  by  Charles  Sumner 
and  Senator  Chase,  so  intelligently  do  they  discuss  everything 
relating  to  our  war.  None  of  these  views  are  new  to  you.  I 
only  tell  you  what  I  hear  and  am  interested  in 

Cambridge,  October  27,  1863. 

...  In  spite  of  the  talk  against  Sumner's  address  in  England, 
he,  Joseph  Lyman,  thinks  it  has  done  great  good,  and  was  the 
real  cause  of  the  Rams  not  being  allowed  to  leave  England. 

October  30,  1863. 

.  .  .  Do  you  know  a  funny  little  panic  I  had,  reading  your 
last  letter  an  hour  ago,  wherein  you  mentioned  that  you  were  to 
dine  with  Sir  Henry  and  Lady  Holland.  Lest  you  should  forget 
that  Lady  Holland  is  Sydney  Smith's  daughter,  and  say  something 
against  her  father's  wit.  It  is  so  easy  for  "Smalphri"  like  myself 
to  keep  the  run  of  people's  relations,  and  so  hard  for  a  man  who 
has  his  head  as  full  as  you  have. 

This  was  but  one  of  many  such  panics.  My  father  had 
no  memory  for  personal  names,  and  seldom  connected  a 
bit  of  gossip  with  the  name  to  which  it  belonged.  Indeed, 
he  disliked  personalities  in  general.  He  often  said  that  he 
could  see  no  difference  between  Johnson  and  Tompkins 
in  point  of  remembering  them.  Consequently,  he  was 
always  liable  to  social  mishaps,  and  we  came  to  recognize 
a  certain  look  of  half-amused  apprehension  on  my  mother's 
face  when  certain  mistakes  were  on  the  point  of  happening — 
at  our  social  board  or  on  other  occasions  of  friendly  gather- 
ing. Once  I  remember  her  breaking  into  the  midst  of  a 
tale  which  my  father  was  relating  to  a  dinner  company,  with 
the  emphatic  words,  "Peter,  you  shall  not  tell  that  story!" 
My  father,  bewildered,  paused,  mildly  inquiring,  "Why 
not?"  But  he  was  effectually  suppressed  for  the  time. 
The  story  was  a  good  and  funny  one,  but  unfortunately 
it  concerned  the  father  of  one  of  the  company  present, 
of  which  fact  my  father  was  serenely  unconscious. 


i863  SECOND   VOYAGE   TO   EUROPE  477 

New  Bedford,  Nov.  5,  1863.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  After  tea  Lizzie  [Ware]  took  out  her  case  of  Port  Royal 
letters,  and  read  to  us,  till  far  into  the  night,  Harriet's  and  Charley's 
Journal  of  the  last  year.  What  a  contrast  to  your  London  letters, 
this  life  among  the  Freedmen  at  St.  Helena  and  Cofi&n's  Point, 
and  how  interesting  both!  .  .  . 

Cambridge,  November  10,  1863. 

.  .  .  Saturday  ...  we  visited  Sarah  Thayer  at  her  office  in 
the  Studio  Building,  where  the  Freedmen's  Association  and 
Educational  League  is.  She  thought  you  must  see  WiUiam  in 
Paris,  that  Mr.  Bigelow  would  tell  you  of  his  being  there.  .  .  . 
Then  to  Whipple's,  where  I  got  for  you  these  two  photos  of 
Lowell  and  Putnam  which  I  send.  The  one  of  Colonel  Shaw, 
I  shall  enclose  in  my  next.  Pray  show  them,  as  o\ir  representative 
young  men  in  this  war.  They  all  fell  martyrs  to  the  Anti-slavery 
cause,  which  they  espoused  intelligently.  Sons  of  our  wealthiest 
and  most  aristocratic  famiUes,  with  everything  on  earth  to  live 
for,  they  wilhngly  poiured  out  their  heart's  blood, — "Greater 
love  hath  no  man  than  this."  Shaw  was  but  twenty-one,  and 
left  his  yoimg  bride  of  eighteen.  .  .  .  When  told  that  he  would 
lose  caste  by  commanding  a  colored  regiment,  he  answered,  "Not 
with  one  soul  whose  opinion  I  care  a  fig  for."  .  .  .  Putnam  was 
but  nineteen,  and  Chauncey  Wright,  who  was  his  tutor,  speaks 
of  him  with  enthusiasm,  says  he  had  the  purest  and  most  heroic 
soul.  James  Lowell  bore  an  angelic  character;  he  was  Putnam's 
cousin.  All  these  boys  had  mothers  of  the  noblest  stamp.  Lowell 
died  in  the  hands  of  the  rebels,  ten  days  after  his  wounds,  and 
rebel  officers  said  to  one  another,  "See  how  a  brave  Union  Soldier 
dies."  .  .  . 

CAMBRrocE,  November  13,  1863. 

...  I  found  Sam.  Longfellow  in  the  cars,  and  had  a  most 
interesting  talk  with  him  all  the  way  in.  He  was  greatly  in- 
terested in  hearing  about  your  times,  and  what  you  said  of  the 
Exeter  Hall  occasion. 

.  .  .  Hear  this  about  Colonel  Higginson: — 

"There  was  a  young  preacher  of  Worcester 
Who  could  have  a  command  if  he'd  choose  to, 
But  he  said,  "  each  recruit  must  be  blacker  than  soot, 
Or  I'll  go  back  and  preach  where  I  used  to." 


478  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

Cambridge,  November  23,  1863. 

[Apropos  to  a  sense  of  personal  consequence]:  ...  I  don't 
believe  old  Abe  thinks  he  is  a  person  of  much  consequence,  yet 
is  he  not?  I  enclose  his  speech  at  Gettysburg,  so  wonderful  for 
its  simplicity  and  pathos.  .  .  . 

Nov.  27,  1863.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  brother  Joseph. 

.  .  .  How  do  you  think  that  George  S.  Hillard's  house  was 
used,  Thanksgiving  Day?  Cousin  Susan  gave  a  splendid  dinner 
to  fourteen  fugitive  slaves,  of  every  shade  of  complexion,  from  jet 
to  pale  yellow.  Mary  Walker  was  one  of  the  guests,  and  pro- 
noimced  it  a  fine  affair. — ^At  the  table,  Mr.  Williams  rose  and 
lowered  the  window-shades,  saying,  "Since  Mrs.  Hillard  gives 
us  this  fine  dinner,  don't  let  the  white  folks  that  go  by,  see  her 
parlor  all  filled  up  with  black  people."  .  .  . 

Dec.  I,  1863.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Sunday  I  did  not  go  to  church.  .  .  .  Joseph  read  us  Henry 
Ward  Beecher's  speech  in  New  York  telling  what  he  said  to  the 
English  when  there.  It  was  wonderfully  fine.  I  wish  I  could  send 
it  to  you.  The  Sunday  papers  brought  news  of  our  great  vic- 
tory at  Chattanooga.  I  send  you  the  account  of  General  Meigs. 
We  are  all  longing  to  have  Richmond  taken,  on  account  of  the 
poor  Union  prisoners,  whose  sufferings  are  frightful,  and  who 
are  daily  dying  of  want  and  starvation.  The  rebels  have  broken 
faith  with  our  Government,  and  used  the  stores  we  have  sent, 
and  clothing  also,  for  their  own  army.  People  whose  sons  and 
husbands  are  prisoners  at  [Libby  ?]  suffer  agonies  in  their  behalf. 
But  our  cause  is  gaining  ground,  the  Lord  is  on  our  side,  and  the 
thought  that  we  shall  be  a  truly  free  and  regenerate  people,  fills 
all  loyal  hearts  with  a  glow.  .  .  . 

December  4,  1863. 

.  .  .  Tuesday  evening  I  went  in  to  Mr.  Emerson's  lecture. 
I  could  not  state  the  subject,  but  he  did  say  a  great  many  funny 
and  true  things  about  England  and  the  English.  What  a  thor- 
ough Yankee  he  is!  .  .  . 

Cambridge,  December  11,  1863. 

.  .  .  Wednesday,  James  Barnard  sent  me  a  two-dollar  ticket 
to  hear  Beecher  in  the  evening,  proceeds  to  go  to  the  Sanitary. 
So  I  got  another  for  Aunt  Kitty.  .  .  .  Beecher  was  more  Beechery 
than  ever,  the  audience  very  enthusiastic,  old  Mr.  Quincy  sat 


i864  SECOND  VOYAGE  TO  EUROPE  479 

by  him  on  the  platform,  and  he  paid  him  high  honors.  .  .  .  He 
told  what  he  had  said  to  the  English.  How  he  answered  their 
questions,  etc.,  and  begged  us  to  be  magnanimous  to  the  English. 
He  said  he  heard  Lord  Brougham,  what  was  left  of  him,  in  ad- 
dressing the  people,  speak  of  our  Country  as  being  governed  by  a 
mob.  It  was  his  (Beecher's)  privilege  to  tell  the  English  people  that 
no  country  in  the  world  had  so  few  mobs,  and  those  we  had  were 
all  imported.  There  were  no  end  of  good  things,  of  strong  com- 
mon sense,  American  ideas,  and  enlarged  benevolence,  all  united 
to  such  justice  for  our  neighbors  on  the  other  side,  such  kindli- 
ness and  bonhomie,  that  he  leaves  behind  no  sting  anywhere. 
I  enjoyed  hearing  him  talk  through  his  nose,  and  could  fancy  he 
would  not  care  a  bit  if  all  England  were  down  on  his  nasal  twang. 
Yesterday  was  Thursday,  and  Lois  took  me  to  Medford  to 
call  on  the  Stearnses.  George  is  just  home  from  Nashville  for 
two  weeks,  but  is  going  back  for  the  winter,  and  doing  finely  in 
raising  Colored  Regiments.  The  President's  Proclamation  just 
come  is  fine  as  ever.  No  backing  down  in  Abraham;  the  "Gos- 
pel of  Peace"  *  belied  him,  when  it  said  that  his  foot  continued 
not  down  in  the  right  place.  He  is  something  more  than  Abraham 
the  well  meaning.  .  .  . 

PniLADELpmA,  Feb.  18,  1864.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her 
Aunt  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  The  Hoppers  .  .  .  invited  us  to  tea  on  Sunday,  and  took 
me  to  the  Freedmen's  Association  on  Tuesday  eve,  where  Phillips 
Brooks  spoke  very  finely;  also  Dr.  Furness,  and  Bishop  Simpson, 
and  Mr.  McKim,  who  had  just  come  from  Tennessee  and  told 
very  interesting  stories  of  the  state  of  things  there.  How  this 
great  interest  unites  all  sorts  of  people.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  March  20,  1864.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  Same. 

...  I  have  read  about  the  whole  of  Theodore  Parker's  life. 
There  are  about  twelve  pages  I  wish  could  have  been  left  out. 
I  do  not  sympathize  at  all  with  his  views  of  our  Saviour,  his  spec- 
ulations on  future  Christs,  and  especially  that  view  of  human- 
ity, which  sees  a  future  angel  in  the  lowest  and  most  debauched 
criminal.  I  would  not  limit  the  power  of  God  or  the  recuperative 
power  of  the  soul  in  some  future  state  of  being,  under  more  favor- 
able conditions ;  still  I  think  it  is  a  wrong  use  of  terms  and  a  very 

*  Anonymous.     Ascribed  to  Richard  Grant  White. 


480  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xviii 

harmful  one,  to  speak  of  persons  in  brothels  as  on  their  way  to 
glory.  .  .  .  Whatever  future  chance  God  may  give  them,  they 
are  certainly  not  now  on  their  way  to  any  good  thing. 

With  these  exceptions,  I  think  there  is  a  great  deal  to  enjoy 
in  the  book,  and  that  it  has  been  much  too  severely  criticised.  He 
gives  me  the  impression  of  a  truly  conscientious  man,  one  of  the 
hardest  workers  for  God  and  man,  and  a  person  of  a  much  more 
affectionate  nature  than  is  generally  supposed.  Do  you  not  con- 
sider some  of  his  letters  to  statesmen  as  truly  prophetic  of  the 
present  crisis?  I  thought  his  letter  to  Dr.  John  Ware,  on  Mr. 
Henry  Ware,  a  very  fine  one.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Last  Year  of  the  Civil  War.     i  864-1 865 

The  spring  and  summer  of  1864  were  unusually  full 
of  professional  work  for  my  father,  and  he  was  frequently 
away  from  home  on  short  trips,  and  evidently  too  busy  to 
write  many  letters. 

In  April  he  received  a  letter  from  John  Amory  Lowell 
concerning  a  future  course  of  lectures  before  the  Lowell 
Institute  in  Boston.  To  this  request  he  replied  that  he 
"should  be  much  pleased  to  deliver  a  course  of  lectures 
before  Lowell  Institute;  that  is,  after  the  summer  of  1865." 
Mr.  Lowell  then  replied,  May  13,  1864,  "I  will  consider  you 
as  engaged  for  the  season  of  186  5- 1866.  I  did  not  expect 
you  to  treat  a  professional  subject,  but  rather  some  topic 
connected  with  geology.  When  you  shall  have  selected  it, 
let  us  know,  for  my  government  in  arranging  other  courses." 
To  which  my  father  suggested  in  a  letter  of  May  20,  as  a 
title,  "The  Unsolved  Problems  of  Geology."  But  later  he 
decided  on  a  more  general  scientific  theme  I  "  his  course, 
which  was  called  "Man's  Origin  and  Destmy,  sketched 
from  the  Platform  of  the  Physical  Sciences." 

Philadelphia,  July  1,  1864.    Peter  Lesley  to  Joseph  Lyman. 

...  I  sent  you  last  week  .  .  .  the  two  photographs  you  wished 
me  to  get  you  in  Paris,  St.  Augustine  and  his  Mother.  There  is 
something  touchingly  fine  in  their  faces,  although  the  attitudes 
are  too  listless  and  enervated.  In  a  day  like  this  we  grow  impatient 
of  any  exhibition  of  life  which  does  not  embody  strength.  The 
slow  passionless  progress  of  nature, — the  endless,  issueless, 
unpointed  dreaming  of  the  soul  in  trance  metaphysics,  —pictorial 
art, — even  love,  which  at  other  times  is  an  end  unto  itself  and  its 
own  excuse  for  being, — all  these  and  like  things,  belonging  to  the 
immutable  and  eternal,  grow  somewhat  tedious  and  impertinent, — 
seeing  that  Richmond  is  to  be  taken,  or  gold  will  go  up  to  300. 

In  spite  of  that,  I  have  set  once  more  to  work  on  Lyell  in  the 


482  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xix 

morning  and  Renan  at  night;  both  books  are  first-rate.  Lyell's 
nervous  temperament  has  been  admirably  kept  under  control  in 
this  calm  well-balanced  statement.  Renan's'  analysis,  or  rather 
picture  of  Jesus'  life,  is  the  first  ever  made;  but  now  and  then 
it  strikes  one  as  shockingly  false;  as  if  you  were  counting  witch 
gold,  and  saw  it  turn  to  leaves  and  rags.  You  were  studying 
God  in  human  form — but  who  is  this  common  Jew  boy?  An 
uncommon  Jew  boy,  replies  Renan,  with  a  sneer.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  July  2,  1864.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wipe 
IN  Peinceton,  Mass. 

,  .  .  Gold  dashed  up  to  280,  and  down  again  before  night 
to  235,  on  news  of  Fessenden  being  appointed  to  take  Chase's 
place.  Hope  he  will,  for  he  is  a  perfect  despot,  and  will  rule  that 
ill-assorted  Cabinet  with  a  rod  of  iron.  He  is  a  giant  in  intel- 
lect. I  hope  he  will  smash  the  Blairs,  and  kick  Wells  in  a  para- 
bolic curve  from  Washington  to  Connecticut.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  July  3,  1864.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Last  evening  Henderson  walked  up  from  the  Library 
with  me,  took  tea  and  talked  till  8.30;  when  I  tried  to  find  Winsor 
and  went  to  the  [Union]  League.  There  I  saw  Mr.  James,  H.  C. 
Carey,  Mr.  Brown,  Geo.  Brown,  and  Rosengarten,  and  Frazer. 
We  had  also  a  Mr.  St.  Claire  from  England,  with  documents  to 
prove  the  state  of  feeling  there,  the  efforts  of  Bright  and  Cobden, 
etc.,  and  the  list  of  a  committee  to  organize  systematic  emigra- 
tion to  this  Country.  ,  .  . 

I  wish  I  could  work!  Oh,  I  have  such  lots  to  do,  and  no 
heart  to  take  up  anything.  The  few  geological  things  that  remain 
tmdone,  haunt  me  and  I  dread  them,  and  am  not  sure,  if  they 
were  out  of  the  way,  that  I  could  get  at  any  future  work;  my  cat- 
alogue lies  in  wait  for  me  like  a  rattlesnake,  down  town,  and  my 
Lowell  Lectures  and  North  American  Review  like  two  Copper- 
heads up  town.  How  blessed  a  condition  when  one  need  not 
work  for  money!  My  dream  is  to  bury  myself  a  month  in  Prince- 
ton [Mass.]  in  August;  but  I  know  I  cannot;  and  if  I  could,  I 
would  not  work  there.  I  should,  if  I  could,  spend  a  month  in 
Brush  Hill  piazza,  with  you.     But  that  is  out  of  the  question.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  July  7,  1864.    To  his  Wiee. 

...  I  spent  yesterday  in  a  lively  manner;  with  printers  and 
artists  in  the  morning,  men  of  iron  and  J.  D.  Whitney  talking 


i864  LAST  YEAR   OF  THE   CIVIL  WAR  483 

over  the  great  California  discoveries  of  Trias  and  Lias,  Mr. 
Ord,  etc,  etc.;  and  the  afternoon,  after  preparing  to  get  off  to- 
morrow, I  spent  several  hours  with  Whitney,  took  tea  with  him 
at  the  League  House,  spent  the  evening  with  A.  and  the  V.'s  at 
the  Lapierre  House,  .  .  .  read  Charles  the  Bold  until  midnight, 
and  am  just  ready  now  to  depart  for  Harrisburg.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Sunday,  July  10,  1864.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  After  a  day  or  two  of  considerable  adventure,  here  I  am 
again,  as  the  clown  says.  I  spent  the  first  night  at  Harrisburg, 
the  second  at  Newville,  "in  the  midst  of  alarms";  the  third  at 
Patterson,  also  in  the  midst  of  alarms,  of  another  sort,  for  the 
freight  trains  shrieked  and  roared  under  my  windows  every  twenty 
minutes,  all  night  long.  ... 

But  you  would  have  been  amused,  indignant  and  sorry  by 
turns,  if  you  had  sat  with  me  in  Jones'  porch,  to  see  the  fugitives.* 
They  came  in  droves,  and  by  scores,  on  horseback,  on  foot,  in 
wagons  of  all  kinds  and  sizes,  from  a  dog-cart  up  to  the  gigantic 
fossil  Conestoga  wagon,  ship-shaped,  and  drawn  by  never  less 
than  six  horses.  At  the  depot,  the  ground  and  platform  and 
doorsteps  and  lumber  were  black  with  blacks,  men,  women  and 
children,  who  had  skedaddled  from  Maryland  and  York,  Adams 
and  Franklin  Cos.,  Pennsylvania.  But  the  main  stream  of  white 
refugees  poured  from  over  the  bridge  up  the  main  street  and  on 
towards  Lebanon.  They  were  coming  in  droves  at  8  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  and  they  had  been  coming  since  6  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  I  was  astonished  at  the  number  of  horses  and  mules, 
some  fine  ones,  others  not  worth  stealing,  and  almost  man  for 
horse,  throughout,  and  such  men!  No  wonder  they  ran  away 
from  a  rumor;  for  they  did  not  seem  to  have  soul  enough  in 
them  to  keep  their  clothes  from  falhng  off  their  backs.  A  poor 
miserable  race,  cowardly,  ignorant,  slow,  the  real  white  trash 
of  the  north.     But  the  whole  scene  was  eminently  picturesque. 

Thursday,  no,  Friday  morning,  at  7  o'clock,  we  were  in  a 
large  two-horse  carriage,  making  across  the  bridges  for  the  seat  of 
war.    As  we  passed  the  far  toll-house,  through  the  Union  guard, 

*This  must  have  been  just  before  a  raid  into  Pennsylvania  in  July, 
sent  by  General  Early.  "  He  sent  his  cavalry  forward  under  John  McCans- 
land  to  ransom  or  destroy  other  towns  near  the  border  of  that  State  [Mary- 
land] and  Pennsylvania.  The  town  of  Chambersburg  was  the  first  selected 
for  this  barbarous  treatment." 

This  place  was  burned  July  30,  1864. 

(See  "Abraham  Lincoln,  by  Nicolay  and  Hay,"  vol.  iv.  pp  175-177.) 


484  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xix 

under  the  guns  of  the  fort,  and  saw  the  crowd  of  fugitives  com- 
mencing for  the  day,  and  the  soldiers  examining  each  horse  to 
see  if  it  had  been  stolen  from  the  United  States  Government, 
I  began  to  realize  the  gravity  of  the  situation.  All  day  we  were 
beset  by  eager  and  anxious  groups,  at  the  taverns,  where  we  waited, 
to  learn  the  latest  news  of  the  rebels.  Were  they  here?  Were 
they  there?  Was  it  true  they  had  burnt  Hagerstown?  Had 
they  taken  Frederick?  Had  Grant  sent  up  two  corps  from 
Petersburg?  Turning  off  from  the  great  pike  and  taking  the 
road  southwest,  through  Shepherdstown,  into  York  County,  we 
found  every  half-mile  or  so  picturesque  encampments  on  the 
roadside,  and  about  the  farm-houses,  of  wagons  filled  with  all 
sorts  of  plunder,  but  chiefly  with  hay  and  grain  for  the  horses. 
Wom.en  and  children  had  all  been  left  at  home.  The  rebels  were 
after  the  stock,  and  the  farmers  were  resolved,  the  stock  they 
should  not  have,  if  they  themselves  had  to  paddock  them  all 
between  Lebanon  and  Reading.  To  all  inquiries  we  repHed: 
good  news:  stay  where  you  are:  time  enough  to  cross  the  river, 
vAien  you  receive  orders  so  to  do.  The  day  was  glorious,  the 
covmtry  a  paradise.  We  stopped  to  see  some  old  ore  banks, 
but  pushed  on  and  over  the  Yellow  Breeches,  where  the  first  ore 
bank  was  which  our  party  owned.  .  .  .    ' 

.  .  .  But  whom  do  you  think  I  have  upstairs?  A  poor  old 
farmer  of  Mercer  Coimty,  whom  I  found  in  the  cars  at  Harris- 
burg.  They  told  him  that  the  rebels  were  about  to  cut  the  North 
Central  at  York,  and  he  must  reach  Washington  via  Philadelphia. 
He  had  been  riding  all  night,  and  was  after  a  son  dangerously 
wounded  in  the  EUiott  Hospital  at  Washington.  So  I  gave  him 
$10  for  his  Harrisburg,  Baltimore  check,  and  after  considering 
the  subject,  invited  him  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  with  me,  for 
he  can't  get  on  to  Baltimore  until  10.30  this  evening,  and  his 
head  is  sorely  addled  with  sorrow,  and  anxiety,  and  the  noise 
and  motion  and  confusion  and  strangeness  of  everything,  and 
I  knew  you  would  have  done  just  so,  if  you  had  been  along.  I 
shall  take  him  out  to  dine  now,  and  then  to  Covenanter's  Church, 
and  give  him  a  cup  of  tea,  and  take  him  to  the  Baltimore  depot 
this  evening.  ... 

July  II,  1864.    To  HIS  Wife. 

...  At  last  the  drum  beats  to  arms.  Troops  marched  through 
all  last  night.  We  hope  the  City  will  be  put  imder  martial  law, 
and  every  one  of  us  conscripted.  We  are  such  a  law-and-order 
people,  that  it  takes  weeks  to  move  us;  but  when  once  moved, 
we  go  with  awful  momentum. 


i864  LAST  YEAR  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  485 

...  If  I  am  compelled  by  circumstances  to  take  arms  with 
the  rest,  remember  that  I  am  in  the  very  best  health  and  spirits, 
.  .  .  and  not  a  non-resistant. 

It  looks  now  as  if  the  whole  Comitry  is  about  to  rise;  but 
no  one  knows  certainly  what  is  going  on,  and  Governor  Curtin 
is  a  haby,  and  Mayor  Henry  a  gentleman,  both  bad  things  in  a 
civil  war.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Tuesday,  July  12,  1864.     To  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  just  seen  my  "entertained  angel  unawares"  ofif 
in  a  train  for  Elmira.  Poor  man!  ^/zere  is  trouble!  Sick  incurably 
himself,  lame,  his  left  leg  shrivelled  up,  his  son  lying  at  the  point 
of  death  in  Washington,  the  rebels  barring  his  progress,  afraid 
to  return  to  his  wife  on  account  of  her  tears;  poor,  because  in- 
flexibly honest,  and  straining  every  nerve  to  pay  off  mortgages 
on  his  httle  farm,  I  could  not  help  contrasting  his  lot  with  mine. 
I  left  him  after  tea,  to  mail  two  letters  for  him,  and  found  myself 
at  the  League  House,  in  the  garden,  among  a  hundred  excited 
members,  as  much  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do  in  the  crisis  as 
if  they  had  been  babies.  I  learned  that  the  military  committee 
had  resolved  to  be  responsible  for  raising  one  regiment;  that 
the  Corn  Exchange,  the  Merchants'  Exchange,  and  the  Coal 
Exchange  were  each  raising  one  regiment.  I  told  them  what 
I  knew  of  the  Cumberland  Valley;  and  suggested  the  necessity 
of  ignoring  the  Mayor  and  establishing  a  Vigilance  Committee; 
I  found  a  ready  response  from  a  few,  chiefly  old  men.  At  last 
young  Scovill  came  over  from  Camden,  and  a  Captain  Calhoun 
was  introduced  to  us,  and  spoke  for  half  an  hour,  on  his  Kentucky 
birth,  and  Libby  experience,  which  exceeded  tenfold  my  worst 
imaginations.  Scovill  began  to  propose  action  and  I  seconded 
him,  and  kept  pushing  propositions,  always  a  little  ahead  of  what 
had  been  last  proposed,  hoping  to  have  the  iron  struck  when 
hot.  At  last  we  resolved  to  march  up  in  a  body  to  Mayor  Henry's 
house  and  demand  a  town  meeting  to-morrow.  We  were  then 
informed  that  he  lived  in  Frankford,  and  was  not  in  town  (at  such 
a  time !) .  So  we  had  a  call  to  the  people  written  (rather  too  high- 
falutin  for  my  taste),  by  Scovill,  and  we  all  signed  it,  and  I  send 
it  to  you  in  the  Enquirer. 

Last  evening  bad  news  poured  in  awfully.  Maj.-Gen. 
Franklin  taken  (no  great  loss);  five  trains  robbed  and  burnt; 
Gunpowder  Bridge  (a  vast  work)  burnt;  2,500  cavalry  on  the 
Susquehanna  ready  for  a  dash  on  Lancaster;  the  Florida,  at 
Cape  May,  burning  all  vessels  entering  or  leaving,  by  the  Capes 


486  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xix 

— our  only  remaining  road  to  Washington;  Governor  Seymour 
resolutely  withholding  New  York  troops.  No  Pennsylvania 
organization,  the  Chesapeake  and  Delaware  Canal  threatened, 
no  news  from  Hunter!  Phew!  I  came  home  at  10.30  red-hot, 
and  cooled  off  on  Charles  the  Bold. 

I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  now  to  go  into  these  affairs,  and  play 
some  efl&cient  part  in  them.  I  think  I  should  keep  a  cool  head, 
and  act  with  vigor.  Mais  c'est  le  premier  pas  qui  coHte.  I  kept 
in  the  background  last  evening,  but  supported  those  who  would 
speak  and  act,  which  made  me  feel  like  a  conspirator.  I  could 
not  help  all  the  time  remembering  the  Girondists.  It  is  bad  stuff, 
this  city  gentry,  neither  good  enough  to  ignore  all  personal  con- 
sideration, nor  bad  enough  recklessly  to  dash  forward  to  an  end. 
Always  looking  at  both  sides,  just  to  all  interests,  never  blinded 
like  the  mob  by  the  passion  of  the  moment,  such  a  body  of  men 
can  have  no  momentum.  They  push  heavily,  but  cannot  strike 
irresistibly.  It  was  in  strange  contrast  with  that  young  fiery 
Kentucky  Captain;  damning  the  rebels  to  hell,  and  shouting  for 
vengeance,  standing  on  his  crutches.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Thursday,  July  14,  1864.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Before  I  turn  to  my  writing  for  to-morrow's  meeting,  I 
must  teU  you  how  excited  the  people  were  yesterday  and  how 
relieved  to-day.  I  never  thought  the  raid  serious;  but  I  felt 
seriously  anxious  to  know  how  the  civilians  at  Washington  would 
behave.  All  now  seems  well;  and  better;  and  prophesying 
a  still  better  future.  This  is  not  the  last  dying  spasm  of  the  rebel- 
lion; but  it  is  one  of  them. 

Princeton  [Mass.],  July  12,  1864.    Sxjsan  I.  Lesley 
TO  HER  Husband. 

.  .  .  How  I  wish  you  were  here  to  tell  me  about  the  war! 
things  look  disheartening  to  me.  William  Forbes  was  taken 
prisoner  on  Saturday,  and  will  fare  badly,  being  Lieutenant  of 
Colored  Cavalry.  Colonel  Russell  was  severely  wounded  three 
weeks  ago,  so  the  Forbes  family  are  again  in  heavy  trouble. 
Poor  John !  no  wonder  he  is  old  and  worn.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  July  23,  1864.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  shall  probably  have  to  pay  $500  for  a  substitute,  as 
the  draft  occurs  September  5th,  and  I  am  45  not  until  September 
17th.  And  even  if  I  be  exempted  on  account  of  my  sight,  I  should 
feel  bound  to  provide  a  substitute.  .  .  . 


i864  LAST  YEAR  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  487 

Poor  Greeley  has  fallen  into  the  trap.  Those  scoundrels 
have  caught  both  him  and  old  Abe,  and  made  fools  of  them  both. 
But  thank  God,  simplicity  is  wisest  in  the  long  run.  .  .  . 

July  31,  1864.    To  HIS  WrFE. 

.  .  .  This  morning  Chambersburg  was  laid  in  ashes  by  the 
rebels.     To-day  the  state  is  all  in  commotion  again. 

I  still  suppose  that  I  can  finish  my  business,  .  .  .  attend  to 
Society  matters,  provide  myself  with  a  substitute  for  the  draft, 
and  perhaps  vote  on  Tuesday;  all  in  time  to  take  the  cars  on 
Tuesday  for  New  Haven.  [To  attend  the  meeting  of  the  Ameri- 
can Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Science.]  .  .  . 

Jamaica  Plain,  Aug.  17,  1864.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Ten  days  of  idleness  at  Princeton  with  you  .  .  .  was 
very  demoralizing  to  your  humdrum.  .  .  .  He  can  scarcely 
"effectuate"  his  penmanship,  or  take  up  his  old  thread  in  the 
labyrinth  of  life.  But  I  have  nice  hours  since  then.  Let  me 
tell.  ...  I  have  just  written  a  long  letter  to  Dana,  embodying 
Desor's  latest  discoveries  in  the  Piloti  lakes.  He  wishes  to  have 
Dana  visit  him.  .  .  . 

You  will  rejoice  with  me  in  che  appearance  of  a  new  and 
more  successful  attempt  by  Grant  upon  Richmond,  from  the  side 
of  Malvern  Hill  and  Fort  Darling;  although  the  news  of  the 
partial  capture  of  Ft.  Darling  must  be  an  entire  mistake,  inas- 
much as  it  stands  on  the  West  or  South  side  of  the  James  River, 
and  the  new  movement  is  wholly  on  the  East  and  North  side.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Aug.  20,  1864.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  The  substitute  scheme  is  a  failure.  Rosengarten  has 
sent  back  my  check  of  $400,  saying  it  was  of  no  use;  and  Henry 
tells  me  that  no  volunteering  is  going  on,  because  the  draft  is 
inevitable,  and  substitutes  who  could  get  $1,000  to-day  will  get 
$2,000  next  month,  and  they  hang  back  therefore  with  good  reason. 

I  sent  you  yesterday  Lesquereux's  charming  letter,  in  which 
he  foolishly  gives  me  all  the  thanks  for  his  election  to  the  Acad- 
emy vacancy.  I  shall  tell  him  that  he  may  thank  his  own  genius, 
and  goodness,  and  diligence,  alone.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Aug.  23,  1864.    To  his  Wife. 

....  How  overwhelming  is  the  work  of  life!  How  can  one 
poor  mortal   face  and   fight   the    host   of    demands   upon   his 


488  LIFE   AND   LETTERS  chap,  xix 

me,  his  S3'^mpathies,  his  brains?  I  was  discouraged  to-day, 
— I  felt  so  weak  and  lonely  and  distracted  with  divers  plans 
and  duties.  So  many  things  I  ought  to  do,  so  many  I  wish 
to  do,  so  many  I  feel  that  I  could  do,  if — ;  and  the  i}  was  so 
unconquerable! 

I  could  not  drink  my  tea.  I  walked  down  to  see  Pliny  [Earle 
Chase],  and  took  him  to  the  precinct,  to  vote  for  delegates  at  the 
primary  election.  Then  we  found  James  and  Charles  Furness 
at  home,  and  spent  the  evening  comparing  notes.  He  also  was 
as  much  impressed  with  and  astonished  at  the  New  England 
despondency  as  I.  When  everything  is  going  so  well,  it  is  sad  to 
see  the  stanch  old  Puritan  land  cast  down.  Eut  the  decimation 
of  its  promising  youth  accounts  for  it. 

They  have  learned  that  Will  Forbes  is  at  Macon  in  prison. 
Eliot  Furness  is  at  Morganza  [Penn.]  on  the  White  River,  with 
a  large  force  concentrated  there.  I  cannot  find  out  whether  I 
am  enrolled  or  not.  James  Furness  could  not  learn  yesterday 
whether  Charley  was  enrolled  or  not.  I  don't  comprehend  the 
matter  at  all.  Le  Conte  advises  me  to  advertise  in  the  news- 
papers. But  I  think  I  shall  quietly  wait  for  the  fifth  of  Septem- 
ber, and  be  governed  by  circumstances  then.  It  is  very  unset- 
tling; and  nobody  seems  able  to  give  any  advice  or  get  any  infor- 
mation. It  is  supposed  by  many  that  the  draft  will  not  be  en- 
forced; I  am  perfectly  sure  that  it  will  be,  and  it  will  be  a  great 
shame  if  it  is  not.  If  50,000  of  us  were  sent  to  each  of  the  three 
armies,  the  whole  history  would  wind  up. 

Philadelphia,  Aug.  29,  1864.    Father  to  Mother. 

.  .  .  What  is  my  patriotism  worth,  if  it  doesn't  bear  fruits! 
And  what  devilish  crab-apples  are  the  fruits  it  bears — murders, 
arsons,  and  all  the  vices  of  the  Camp,  and  maimed  and  ruined 
lives  besides.  How  can  I  pay  another  to  go  to  a  hell  which  I  will 
not  myself  name  without  a  shudder !  Yet  how  can  peace  be  won, 
except  by  the  sword!  You  see  that  Fort  Morgan  is  ours,  and 
that  a  Commissioner  from  the  State  of  Georgia  has  arrived  at 
Washington  to  treat  separately  for  peace;  two  very  important 
events;  the  latter,  if  true,  infinitely  important.  I  pray  God  it 
may  be  so.  It  looks  as  if  McClellan  will  be  nominated  at  Chi- 
cago. If  so,  it  will  argue  a  complete  fusion  of  the  adverse 
elements  of  the  Democratic  party  and  a  dangerous  political  cam- 
paign. ... 


1864  LAST  YEAR  OF  THE   CIVIL  WAR  489 

My  father  went  in  September  to  visit  his  brother-in-law, 
Joseph  Lyman,  in  Jamaica  Plain,  after  having  spent  a 
few  days  in  Princeton  with  his  family. 

[Jamaica  Plain],  Sept.  [5],  1864.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  I  spent  the  evening  with  Joseph  .  .  .  and  have  been  dis- 
cussing Desor,  and  Politics — in  the  parlor,  ever  since. 

.  .  .  Joseph  described  to  me  his  hailing  a  boat  at  Maysville, 
December,  1839,  getting  a  complete  set  of  Harrisburg  newspapers 
from  the  returned  delegates,  knocking  up  William  Greene  at  Cin- 
cinnati, and  after  breakfast,  going  with  him  in  a  boat  down  to 
Great  Bend,  16  miles;  finding  General  Harrison,  in  servant's 
clothes,  with  head  bound  up,  dining  in  his  kitchen  with  his  ser- 
vants, and  giving  him  news,  four  days  in  advance  of  the  mails, 
of  his  nomination.  How  the  old  man  cried  and  grasped  the 
papers  with  trembling  hands,  and  afterwards  dined  and  wined 
them  in  the  best  parlor,  till  he  got  quite  high  on  the  occasion.  It 
is  a  fine  piece  of  romantic  history.  .  .  . 

Jamaica  Plain,  Sept.  6,  1864.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  spent  most  of  the  day  reading  George  Wilson's  and 
Archibald  Geikie's  life  of  Edward  Forbes,  with  whom  Joseph 
was  so  well  pleased,  meeting  him  years  ago;  and  whose  youngest 
and  only  surviving  brother  David,  I  learned  to  like,  sitting  vis-a- 
vis, at  the  Geological  Society  Club  dinner  in  London,  last  De- 
cember. The  first  six  chapters  by  Wilson  are  six  exquisite  land- 
scapes of  life,  one  of  them  giving  the  story  of  the  progress  and  re- 
form of  the  Sciences  at  Edinburgh,  between  1830  and  i860,  in  a 
masterly  style.  I  wished  a  hundred  times  for  your  open  ears  and 
answering  eyes  beside  me.  Biography  is  the  prince  of  literature; 
no  offence  to  fiction,  either!  for  are  they  not  one?  Equally  true, 
equally  false,  equally  charming  and  instructive,  equally  suggestive 
and  invigorating!  So  pensive,  so  pathetic,  so  funny  and  fresh 
and  bright,  so  noble  and  inspiring,  such  stimulants  to  love,  learn 
and  work,  believe  and  be  patient !  I  find  a  thousand  little  sketches 
of  myself  in  these  pages.  He  began  science  as  I  did,  pencil  in 
hand.  He  studied  medicine  by  advice  and  mistake,  as  I  did 
theology.  He  was  a  mystic  and  loved  symbols,  especially  my  tri- 
angle, although  he  put  no  ark  upon  it.  His  enormous  verse- 
writing  was  as  profuse  and  almost  as  doggerel  as  mine  (before  you 
knew  me).  Female  faces  float  round  the  margins  of  all  his  note 
books;  yet  he  married  late  and  left  but  one  child.     He  loved  a 


490  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xix 

wide  range  and  many-sided  culture,  the  harmony  of  the  sciences, 
and  was  inaccurate  in  details.  He  was  a  great  worker,  but  wasted 
half  his  energies  in  nonsensical  ballad  writing,  and  extracting  all 
sorts  of  trash  knowledge  into  his  note  books,  keeping  no  journals 
beyond  the  most  cabalistical  jottings  and  datings  of  persons  and 
places,  names,  etc.  But  he  kept  his  soul  alive  by  frequent  walks 
and  voyages,  for  the  collection  of  plants,  and  the  dredging  of  sea 
animals,  and  by  a  conviviality  in  which  entire  groups  of  friends 
and  fellows  were  constructed  or  crystallized  about  him.  Here, 
his  would  be  the  loudest  laugh  and  his  the  funniest  caricature. 
He  was  a  boy  to  the  end  of  his  earthly  days,  loved  and  respected 
by  everybody.  Think  of  him  growling,  roaring,  and  lashing  his 
coat-tails  from  side  to  side  among  the  "Red  Lions,"  to  express 
approbation,  dissent,  or  disgust,  at  what  was  said  at  the  meet- 
ing, and  getting  that  sort  of  thing  established  as  the  rule  of  the 
club!  Blessed  privilege  of  genius,  to  play  the  fool,  while  an- 
gels stand,  hats  off,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear!  I  have  suffered 
abominably  with  neuralgia  all  over,  and  feared,  at  one  time 
yesterday,  that  perhaps  an  attack  of  inflammatory  rheumatism 
might  be  impending,  but  I  reckon  not.  My  cerebellum  is  just 
like  one  of  those  lumps  of  90  per  cent,  tin,  10  per  cent,  lead 
dredged  up  lately  in  the  Thames,  marked 
I  can't  hold  it  up  all  day  long,  it  is  so 
heavy.  I  seem  to  see  it  in  front  of  me 
in  the  form  of  Mary's  hair  net.  I  tried 
yesterday  to  write  on  my  report  of  War- 
wick Furnace;  but  after  plotting  out  a  few  miniature  ownerships 
on  the  map,  and  inserting  half  a  dozen  elevations,  I  gave  it  up 
as  no  good. 

To-day  I  take  the  cars  to  Brush  Hill  and  shall  finish  the  tour 
of  Milton  before  I  return,  according  to  your  programme. 

Think!  Mrs.  Hale  told  me  the  girls  had  heard  the  mpst 
magnificent  sermon  from  Dr.  Hedge,  that  morning,  and  that  if  I 
had  been  there,  I  might  also  have  been  introduced  to  Goldwin 
Smith,  who  was  brought  to  church  by  Charles  Head,  his  com- 
panion in  the  steamer. 

Think  also!  James  Freeman  Clarke  really  did  preach  m 
Boston  Sunday  morning  after  all! 

I  spent  Sunday  evening,  after  the  others  went  to  bed,  readmg 
the  whole  report  of  proceedings  of  Presbytery  against  Coquerel, 
flls  (friend  of  Scherer  and  Company),  Paris. 


Mi®' 


i864  LAST  YEAR  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  491 

Jamaica  Plain,  Sept.  9,  1864.    To  his  Wlfe. 

.  .  .  Wednesday  morning  .  .  .  saw  Mr.  Whitcomb  and  got 
him  to  janitor  me  about  the  Lowell  Institute,  and  show  me  the 
artist  who  does  the  illustrations;  sat  a  few  minutes  with  G.  S. 
Hillard;  had  a  nice  half-hour  with  Wm.  Ware  and  Cabot,  and 
fifteen  minutes  with  Sarah  Thayer; — an  hour  in  the  music  hall 
(12-1)  listening  to  Dr.  Thayer  on  the  wonderful  great  organ.  .  .  . 

A  complete  nervous  breakdown  followed  this  Eastern 
trip,  and  my  father  was  unable  for  some  weeks  to  do  any 
work  at  all;  but  in  October  he  was  again  actively  engaged 
in  surveying,  etc. 

[Autumn,  October,  1864.]    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her 
Atxnt  Catherine  Rob  bins. 

.  .  .  This  week  will  decide  our  fate  as  a  nation;  God  save  the 
country,  and  defeat  McClellan!  Mr.  Furness  preached  an  ad- 
mirable sermon  to-day  on  the  coming  election;  he  spoke  beauti- 
fully of  Lincoln,  said  we  ought  to  be  thankful  in  times  like  these 
that  we  had  a  man  who,  amidst  the  confusion  of  voices,  listened 
for  the  voice  of  the  people,  and  followed  it.  He  was  not  born  for 
a  leader  or  a  guide,  and  as  he  was  not,  it  is  a  special  Mercy  that 
he  does  not  pretend  to  guide.  He  said  it  would  have  been  far 
easier  for  us  to  have  been  able  to  shift  the  heavy  burden  of  private 
anxiety  and  responsibility,  on  to  the  shoulders  of  a  heavy  leader, 
but  it  would  not  have  been  half  so  good  for  us  as  a  people,  or  for 
our  fate  as  a  nation.  I  confess  I  was  much  struck  with  his  view 
of  it.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Nov.  5,  1864.    Peter  Lesley  to 
Miss  Catherine  robbins. 

.  ,  .  Yesterday  .  .  .  Susie  and  I  took  them  [the  children]  to 
see  the  forty  thieves  burnt  alive  by  Miss  Morgiana,  each  in  his 
separate  olive  jar.  .  .  . 

But  what  are  theatricals  of  the  reddest  fire  stamp  compared 
with  the  drama  enacting  in  real  life  now!  The  city  resounds  with 
the  tramp  of  regiments  returning  to  vote ;  and  the  shouts  of  crowds 
at  mass  meetings  in  the  Music  Hall,  the  National  Hall,  the  Con- 
cert Hall,  the  Musical  Fund  Hall  and  in  Independence  Square. 
Old  people  especially  are  excited  to  the  last  pitch  of  endurance. 
When  the  strain  is  taken  off  next  week,  we  will  all  feel  the  reaction. 
I  am  confident  that  the  Republic  will  be  saved;  but  what  if  it 
were  not!     I  shudder  at  the  possibility  of  some  great  catastrophe. 


492  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xix 

All  accounts  from  the  south  are  encouraging,  especially  the 
news  from  North  Carolina.  But  surely  in  no  spirit  of  cant,  and 
with  no  undue  straining  of  the  doctrine  of  divine  providence  and 
of  superintendence,  I  say,  that  we  lie  in  the  hands  of  the  Almighty 
disposer  of  events,  and  the  turner  of  hearts  as  He  will.  I  feel  the 
possibility  of  the  exercise  of  some  mysterious  and  general  influence 
upon  the  minds  and  hearts  of  men,  by  which  God  may  protect  us 
at  the  polls,  so  as  no  appointment  of  Butlers  and  Hookers,  no 
sending  home  of  regiments,  no  scrutiny  of  the  ballot  boxes,  no 
speaking  by  night  or  devising  by  day,  no  court-martials  and  pro- 
vost martials  could  do  it.  Let  us  pray  for  such  an  influence — 
prompt  as  the  Sirocco  to  make  the  glaciers  disappear,  and  as 
invisibly  exerted. 

We  may  be  wrong  in  considering  the  future  of  the  world 
dependent  upon  the  struggle.  God  may  see  quite  another  future. 
But  so  far  as  men  are  good  and  true,  they  are  all  ranging  them- 
selves on  this  side,  and  taking  this  view. 

Washington,  Jan.  4,  1865.    (?).    To  his  Wife. 

Yesterday  the  Academy  met  and  elected  officers,  etc.  ,  .  . 
Then  came  papers;  a  time  measurer  for  gun  practice  by  Hilgard, 
which  measures  to  the  loooth  part  of  a  second.  Then  a  mag- 
nificent discovery  of  Agassiz  in  the  homologous  relationships  exist- 
ing between  shell  fish,  the  argonauta  forming  an  outer  shell,  the 
nautilus  an  inner,  and  the  ammonite  both;  and  between  the  mantle 
of  the  gasteropods  and  the  tentacle  arms  of  the  cuitle-fish,  etc. 

Then  a  fuie  paper  of  Baird's  on  the  distribution  of  birds  over 
America.  Le  Conte  and  Agassiz  had  something  to  say  about  it, 
and  we  broke  up  and  rode  home  to  dinner  at  five,  bringing  Whit- 
ney with  us,  who  had  just  made  his  appearance,  having  assisted 
at  a  horrid  accident  in  Jersey  City.  The  locomotive  exploded 
blowing  off  a  third  story  from  a  house,  etc.,  etc. 

The  magnificence  of  the  Capitol*  surpasses  description.  It 
is  a  fairy  tale  in  marble.     No  building  the  world  ever  saw  can 

*The  Capitol  at  Washington,  D.C.  "The  first  Capitol  was  erected 
on  the  same  site,  the  corner-stone  laid  by  George  Washington,  Sept.  18, 
1793.  Before  its  completion  the  building  was  destroyed  in  1814.  The 
present  central  structure  dates  from  1818  (completed  1827),  and  the  ex- 
tension or  wings  from  1851.  The  corner-stone  of  the  Capitol  extension  was 
laid  in  1851,  and  the  Hall  of  Representatives  .  .  .  was  first  occupied  in  1857, 
and  the  Senate  Chamber  in  1859.  The  work  was  continuously  prosecuted 
during  the  civil  war,  until  the  Statue  of  Liberty  crowned  the  Summit  on 
Dec. 12,  1863."     {From  the  Universal  Cyclopedia,  vol.  xii.) 


i865  LAST  YEAR  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  493 

have  compared  with  it.     Inside  it  is  as  beautiful  as  outside,  it  is 
sublime.     The  dome  is  a  dream  of  majesty.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  Feh.  2,  1865.    Peter  Lesley  to  Miss  Robbins. 

...  I  send  this  only  to  assure  you  of  my  affectionate  remem- 
brance, and  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  yours  of  the  12th  of 
last  month;  but  especially  to  congratulate  your  heart,  faithful 
to  liberty  and  the  cause  of  righteousness,  on  the  grandeur  of  the 
event  *  which  occurred  day  before  yesterday  in  the  House  of  Rep- 
resentatives at  Washington.  It  was  there  recognized  as  the  great- 
est moment  of  our  history  since  July  4,  1776,  to  which  it  was  the 
supplement.  The  Senate  does  not  represent  the  popular  will, 
except  so  far  as  that  happens  to  be  fixed  in  the  cunning  of  aged 
politicians.  In  the  House  of  Representatives  the  people  are  rep- 
resented, and  the  pronouncement  of  liberty  by  the  Constitutional 
Amendment  is  a  ratification  of  the  last  vote  at  the  polls.  There 
is  no  possibility  that  the  states  will  not  ratify  the  vote  of  the  House, 
because  in  this  country  and  in  these  times  things  never  go  back- 
ward, and  common  sense  is  the  prime  characteristic  of  the  people. 
We  may  conclude  therefore  that  what  was  prompted  by  interest 
and  confirmed  by  principle,  will  be  completed  by  pride.  The 
pride  of  the  American  nas  been  increased  by  the  war,  and  will 
feel  itself  pledged  to  universal  liberty.  The  great  hand  of  God 
is  visibly  working  out  the  times,  and  we  may  all  look  with  satis- 
faction into  the  future.  .  .  .  Your  remarks  upon  Chauncey's 
metaphysical  speculations  seem  to  me  very  just.  I  have  no  liking 
for  fog,  when  I  am  to  live  in  it;  but  I  like  to  see  fogs  rolling  up 
mountain  sides  at  noonday,  or  descending  to  lake-like  levels  at 
sundown ;  or  reflecting  the  rising  sun  in  the  morning.  Such  are  the 
charms  of  metaphysical  discussions.  In  others  they  are  beauti- 
ful,— in  my  own  soul,  chilling,  obscure,  and  causing  to  err  from 
the  plain  way.  I  love  the  old  soil  and  common  daylight,  the 
wholesome  sunshine  of  the  old  faiths,  and  the  homestead  of  com- 
mon sense.  I  am  now  and  then  overwhelmed  by  the  wonders  of 
the  universe,  but  only  as  I  am  blown  from  my  equilibrium,  now 
and  then,  by  powerful  winds  on  a  mountain  top.  No  one  but  an 
owl  can  live  in  a  perpetual  gaping  admiration.  We  must  be  con- 
tent with  matter,  in  the  main,  and  let  forces  attend  to  their  own 
affairs ;  and  spirits  the  same.  .  .  . 

*  This  was  the  Thirteenth  Amendment.  For  an  excellent  account  of  the 
history  of  this  Amendment  see  "Abraham  Lincoln,  by  Nicolay  and  Hay," 
vol.  X.  pp.  71-90. 


494  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xix 

Pittsburg,  March  5,  1865.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Living  without  a  separation  from  you  all  the  fall  and  all 
the  winter,  made  it  very  hard  to  begin  again  my  travels. 

I  amused  myself  this  morning  with  studying  a  very  beautiful 
memoir  in  the  Journal  of  the  Royal  Asiatic  Society,  on  the  neces- 
sity for  drawing  down,  by  24  or  25  years,  Archbishop  Usher's 
chronology  of  the  Kings  of  Israel  and  Assyria;  and  in  brooding 
over  a  grand  scheme  of  associating  our  geologists  and  young  men 
who  wish  to  study  geology,  so  as  to  form  a  working  school,  self- 
supporting,  to  which  all  professional  work  would  be  forced  to 
come,  sharing  the  proceeds  among  the  members  of  the  Sodality, 
and  employing  all  the  time  not  devoted  to  orders,  Vin  strictly 
scientific  work,  in  field  and  ofSce,  so  as  to  accomplish  a  complete 
survey  of  the  State  in  the  end.  I  really  think  the  plan  is  feasible 
in  a  business  point  of  view,  as  it  involves  no  extravagant  depend- 
ence upon  perfections  in  human  nature,  and  no  essential  changes 
in  the  business  habits  of  the  men  to  whose  interests  it  would 
appeal. 

...  I  am  sorry  to  learn  that  the  oil  mania  has  forestalled  my 
designs  upon  the  Gap.  A  well  is  going  down  in  the  spot  I  had 
chosen  for  L.  The  whole  range  from  Dunkard's  creek  past 
Uniontown  and  Connellsville  towards  Greensburg  has  been 
leased  or  bought  up,  or  is  held  tightly  by  its  owners  for  their  own 
oil  purposes.  I  expect  to  hear  of  hundreds  of  derricks  building  or 
built  all  along  the  west  foot  of  Chestnut  ridge.  But  do  not  accuse 
me  of  the  folly  of  regretting  that  I  have  held  aloof  from  leasing, 
boring  or  investing  in  wells,  for  no  man  can  serve  two  masters — • 
faithfully.  .  .  . 

Philadelphia,  March  9,  1865.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  came  a  note  from  Lamborn,  informing  you 
that  you  were  made  a  member  of  the  Steel  and  Iron  Association 
in  consideration  of  your  past  services.  .  .  . 

A  sentence  in  a  letter  of  March  16,  1865,  shows  the 
amount  of  work  my  father  now  had  in  hand : — 

I  am  carrying  studding-sails  in  a  gale,  and  every  spar 
creaks ;  but  my  health  is  good  and  I  bar  out  every  thought  not  in 
the  line  of  my  business.  I  have  three  separate  reports  to  make 
at  Brady's  Bend,  Sarah  Furnace  and  Red  Bank.  The  men  whom 
Hall  sent  here  have  gone  off  offended  because  I  did  not  wait  to 


i86s  LAST  YEAR  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  495 

"confer"  with  them  another  day.  So,  for  Hall's  sake,  I  must 
write  the  Layton  Station  report.  Then  comes  the  Slippery  Rock 
(just  postponed  by  the  telegraph  until  the  28th),  and  then  my 
Kentucky  journey,  which  I  dread.  A  man  here  wishes  my  re- 
port on  5000  acres  as  I  come  back  down  the  Sandy;  and  another 
report  on  West  Virginia,  after  my  return. 


He  used  to  utilize  his  journeys  also  for  work.  Many 
a  report  or  other  article  for  publication  was  written  on  the 
train.  He  was  also  often  occupied  with  sketching  or  map 
making  at  his  hotel,  after  a  long  day's  work  in  the  field. 
"When  he  was  well,  there  seemed  no  limit  to  his  capacity  for 
work.  And,  even  when  ill  and  suffering,  he  accomplished 
a  great  deal.  Often,  when  tired  with  productive  brain 
work,  he  would  turn  to  some  piece  of  drudgery,  from  writ- 
ing a  report  to  making  a  catalogue  or  index,  which  was 
more  purely  mechanical;  or  from  the  accurate  plotting  of 
a  map  to  the  fine  shading  of  some  portion  of  the  same.  He 
must  have  found  this  a  relief  to  his  brain,  although  to  the 
looker-on  it  seemed  equally  hard  work.  Then  he  always 
had  at  hand  some  reading  quite  alien  to  his  business  life; 
and  he  had  certain  linguistic  and  archaeological  hobbies 
which  served  him  in  good  stead  throughout  life,  to  rest  his 
overstrained  brain. 

PmsBURG,  March  17,  1865.    Peter  Lesley  to  ms  Wife. 

.  .  .  The  tremendous  fall  in  the  price  of  gold;  the  panic  in 
New  York;  the  decline  of  the  iron  trade  here;  the  strike  of  a  100- 
barrel  well  yesterday  near  the  Virginia  line,  on  Dunkard's  Creek 
(Ross's)  at  350  feet  depth;  the  irresistible,  glacier -like  movement 
of  Sherman's  different  corps  towards  Richmond  by  way  of  Ra- 
leigh; the  new  military  league  for  future  operations  in  Mexico; — 
these  are  the  topics  of  general  discourse.  .  .  . 

Cincinnati,  March  21,  1865. 

.  .  .  This  afternoon  ...  I  take  boat  to  Catlettsburg, .  .  .  river 
steamer  for  Louisa,  .  .  .  and  another  to  Paintsville,  where  our 
headquarters  will  be  made.  .  .  . 

I  take  the  taste  of  the  world  out  of  my  mouth,  now  and  then, 
with  a  chapter  of  Dickens.    His  last  is  better  than  his  first. 


•> 


496  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xix 

Here  is  a  typical  week  of  geological  campaigning: — 

Louisa,  Ky.,  March  29,  1865. 

.  .  .  March  20th:  We  embarked  on  the  Telegraph  at  Cin- 
cinnati and  were  compelled  to  lay  up,  the  Tuesday  night  fol- 
lowing at  Portsmouth,  by  a  great  storm,  which  overturned  the 
Marietta  steamboat,  loaded  with  passengers;  but  all  were  saved. 

March  23rd:  We  took  the  Victress  up  Sandy  to  Louisa,  and 
attempted  to  take  the  little  river  there,  for  Paintsville;  but  the 
storm  continued,  blew  us  ashore,  and  obliged  us  to  spend  the  night 
in  this  rattletrap.  We  walked  up  to  the  fort,  and  had  a  merry 
party. 

March  24th,  Friday,  we  started  on  the  River.  I  wish  you 
could  have  seen  us !  and  were  all  day  getting  up  to  Buffalo  shoals, 
upsetting  on  our  way  a  small  boat  full  of  people,  and  a  dead  man 
in  a  coffin,  creating  a  great  excitement.  After  dark  we  formed 
a  procession  of  fifty  men  and  two  women  with  lanterns,  and  walked 
waded,  climbed  and  stumbled  over  to  Paintsville  three  miles. 

March  25,  Saturday:  We  could  get  no  horses  and  I  spent  the 
day  talking  oil  and  studying  my  reports,  and  notes  of  Owen, 
Lyon,  and  Joe's,  and  got  my  first  night's  sleep. 

March  26,  Sunday:  Five  of  the  party  started  on  foot  up 
Paint  Creek,  and  Ogden  Lewell  and  I,  on  horses,  into  the  most 
tremendous  land  of  crags,  ravines,  cascades,  oil  springs,  forests 
and  guerillas,  and  reached  Wash  Webb's,  to  sleep  in  a  cabin, 
while  an  old  woman  with  a  pipe  studied  curiously  our  mode  of 
undressing.  Before  retiring  we  had  a  guerilla  fright;  not  a 
pleasant  episode.     We  rode  cavalry  horses,  by  the  by. 

Monday,  27th:  Having  opened  communication  with  the  foot 
party  (who  got  lost  among  the  precipices),  we  continued  up  three 
miles  to  Lyon's  well,  got  specimens  of  oil  rock,  waded  the  creek 
forty  times,  found  the  XI  iron  ore,  and  joined  them  five  miles 
up  Little  (Oil)  Fork  of  Paint,  where  we  ate  a  chicken,  filled  our 
bottles  with  tar,  smoked  the  pipe  of  peace,  discussed  plans  for 
the  future,  and  the  best  mode  of  cutting  up  the  100,000  acres. 
Back  three  miles  across  the  bend  to  Williams'  (where  the  foot- 
men had  spent  the  night)  and  left  them  there  unable  to  proceed. 
I  got  Carlisle  to  ride  with  me  back  to  Paintsville,  where  we  arrived 
nearly  dead  with  fatigue.  I  had  been  very  sick  in  the  night  with 
a  sort  of  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and  asthma  in  the  morning, 
which  has  stuck  to  me  ever  since. 

Tuesday,  28th:  Lucky  in  finding  the  Red  Brick  (a  scow  with 


i865  LAST  YEAR  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  497 

a  locomotive  on  board)  descending  to  Louisa,  at  daybreak. 
Unlucky  in  not  taking  the  Rover  when  we  passed  her  lower  down. 
Were  arrested  by  the  military  post  at  Louisa,  who  wanted  the 
boat,  and  obliged  to  spend  last  night  there  (here). 

Wednesday,  29th :  Desperate  finding  the  Red  Brick  impressed, 
and  no  certainty  of  the  Victress,  Mason  or  Clarke  getting  up, 
because  the  waters  have  fallen.  If  they  do,  I  shall  be  in  Catletts- 
burg  to-night,  and  try  to  reach  Pittsburg  by  Saturday,  April  ist, 
a  precious  fool  for  ever  embarking  on  such  an  expedition.  .  .  . 

Of  course  the  great  events  of  the  early  spring  of  1865, 
the  taking  of  Richmond  and  the  assassination  of  Lincoln, 
affected  my  father  and  mother  deeply,  as  they  did  all  earnest 
people.  Even  the  children  of  the  household  felt  the  heavy 
pall  which  fell  over  society  with  the  latter  event,  and  which 
did  not  lift  for  many  a  week. 

April  24,  1865.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

.  .  .  The  Wares  came  on  Monday.  .  .  .  They  describe  the 
Secession  element  in  Baltimore  as  very  rampant,  and  their  brother 
John's  church  is  the  only  Union  church,  with  the  exception  of  a 
small  Baptist  one.  The  ministers  there  have  taken  such  violent 
Secession  ground  since  the  President's  death,  that  General  Lew 
Wallace  has  had  to  order  them  to  be  quiet,  or  he  would  close 
their  churches.  I  suppose  you  are  as  much  pleased  as  I  am  that 
Booth  was  taken  dead.  I  am  thankful  that  the  public  will  be 
cheated  out  of  a  trial  and  a  hanging,  which  are  so  demoralizing, 
and  never  fail  to  create  a  morbid  sympathy  for  the  criminal  in 
certain  minds.  .  .  . 

Pittsburg,  April  28,  1865.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Were  you  not  glad  that  the  assassin  of  the  President  was 
shot  ?  I  have  dreaded  his  protracted  trial  and  execution,  demoral- 
izing the  brutal  part  of  the  national  mind.  Better  so.  "The 
reign  of  terror  looks  to  me  advancing — begun.  God  knows 
to  what  pitch  it  may  be  carried.  .  .  . 

This  view  of  the  situation  was  very  characteristic  of  both 
my  father  and  mother.  Revenge,  public  or  private,  was 
abhorrent  to  them.  I  well  remember  that  we  children  were 
never  allowed  to  sing  the  words,  "We'll  hang  Jeff  Davis 


498  •  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xix 

on  a  sour  apple-tree,"  when  that  song  was  one  of  the  popu- 
lar melodies  of  the  day  and  those  words  were  habitually 
sung  by  most  children  with  a  special  emphasis. 

Philadelphia,  May,  1865.     Susan  I.  Lesley  to 

HER   BROTHER   JOSEPH   LyMAN. 

.  .  .  When  he  [Peter]  has  finished  his  present  engagements, 
I  am  going  to  insist  on  his  quitting  his  present  overstrained  life 
for  the  summer.  I  shall  pretend  that  it  is  important  to  my  own 
health,  that  he  devotes  himself  to  me.  .  .  . 

How  quiet  it  seems,  and  how  the  news  of  surrender  and  peace 
fall  on  our  ears  without  realization,  since  the  good  President  has 
gone! .  .  . 

Springfield,  June  19,  1865.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to 
HER  Aunt  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  Do  you  not  anticipate  many  sorrows  and  many  wrongs 
to  this  present  generation  of  Freedmen?  This  question  of  Re- 
construction seems  to  require  divine  wisdom  to  deal  with.  I 
consider  these  times  quite  as  anxious  and  perplexing  as  any  during 
the  war,  except  that  the  bloodshed  is  ended.  .  .  . 

The  summer  of  1865  was  spent  by  the  family  in  New 
England,  where  my  father  joined  us  in  July. 

He  found  time  during  his  busy  days  to  write  every  now 
and  then  a  long,  delightful  letter  to  one  or  other  of  his  chil- 
dren. Here  is  one  of  them  to  his  eight -year-old  daughter 
which  I  think  worth  printing,  because  of  the  time  and 
the  occasion  of  which  it  tells : — 

Philadelphia,  Sunday,  June  25,  1865.     Peter  Lesley  to 

HIS  DAUGHTER  MARGARET. 

...  I  must  write  you  a  letter  now.  And  I  have  something 
beautiful  to  write  about, — something  that  will  please  you.  How 
I  wished  you  were  with  me  yesterday  in  the  Academy  of  Music, 
to  see  the  whole  house  filled  with  people  who  had  come  together 
to  arrange  a  home  for  the  poor  wounded  soldiers  and  sailors, 
who  are  now  coming  home,  without  feet  to  walk  with,  nor  hands 
to  work  with,  nor  eyes  to  see  with,  and  all  because  they  fought 
to  keep  us  safe  from  the  rebels,  and  to  win  liberty  for  the  negroes ! 

The  great  broad  deep  place  they  call  the  stage,  which  is  nearly 
as  large  itself  as  a  common-sized   church,  was  entirely  full  of 


i865  LAST  YEAR   OF   THE   CIVIL  WAR  499 

girls,  dressed  in  white,  and  rows  of  boys  between  them,  to  keep 
them  quiet;  I  mean,  that  the  boys  would  not  have  been  quiet 
had  they  not  been  distributed  about  among  the  girls. 

And  every  boy  and  girl  had  a  flag! 

And  there  were  six  hundred  of  them! 

How  sweetly  they  sang,  I  cannot  pretend  to  describe;  the 
tears  blinded  me  so  that  I  could  not  see,  and  the  words  choked 
my  heart  so  that  I  could  not  hear.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  floating  on 
a  cloud  of  music  up  to  heaven. 

And  when  General  Grant  came  and  took  the  big  chair,  what 
a  stamping!  and  a  shouting!  and  a  hurrahing!  and  how  they 
kept  it  up,  and  never  would  stop !  How  they  began  over  and  over, 
shouting  and  waving  their  600  flags  all  about  him  on  the  stage, 
and  the  audience  standing  up,  waving  their  handkerchiefs  and 
hats, — 1000  handkerchiefs  and  500  hats!  And  all  screaming 
at  the  tops  of  their  voices,  and  going  on  as  if  they  were  all  mad; 
but  to  look  in  their  faces  and  see  how  happy  and  eager  they  all 
were  to  get  a  good  look  at  the  great,  silent  hero,  who  stood  and 
looked  shyly  back  at  them  and  said  nothing,  while  they  over- 
whelmed him  with  a  tempest  of  hurrahs  and  a  cataract  of  nose- 
gays; and  some  laughing,  and  some  smiling,  with  all  their  might, 
and  some  crying,  and  all  hurrahing — oh,  it  was  a  fine  sight  I  assure 
you  and  I  wish  you  had  been  there. 

But  you  shall  see  General  Grant  some  day,  for  he  is  a  Phila- 
delphian  now.  The  people  have  given  him  a  fine  house  in  Chest- 
nut Street  and  he  will  live  among  us. 

The  songs  the  children  sang  were  all  lively,  quick  tunes  in 
the  new  style — I  don't  know  where  it  comes  from — but  very 
inspiring,  and  all  about  Jesus,  and  the  Church,  and  Jerusalem, 
and  the  Christian's  struggle  to  be  good,  and  the  Victory,  the 
Victory  at  last. 

They  opened  with  a  wonderfully  fine  hymn  called  "  Glory  to 
God  on  High."  Whoo!  it  made  one's  hair  stand  on  end  to  hear 
them  sing  it  so. 

"  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  thou  hast  ordained 
praise,  said  David,"  said  Bishop  Simpson  who  made  a  little 
speech  to  us  between  two  hymns.  .  .  . 

Brookline,  July  26,  1865.    Susan  I.  Lesley  [at  the  Hales'] 
TO  Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  Peter  hates  to  leave  here,  and  I  don't  wonder.  He  has 
got  into  quite  a  regular  way  of  life,  and  I  think  he  is  much  better 
this  week  than  he  was  last.     He  retires  to  the  unoccupied  parlor 


500  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xix 

every  morning  to  write  his  lectures,  and  no  one  disturbs  him  till 
dinner.  Then  the  family  conversation  is  very  resting  and  divert- 
ing to  him.  In  the  afternoon  he  takes  me  to  ride,  or  plays  croquet 
which  he  has  become  very  fond  of,  or  walks  over  to  Joseph's 
[Lyman,  at  Jamaica  Plain].  He  finished  his  first  Lecture  yes- 
terday, and  I  read  it  aloud  to  Lucretia  [Hale]  for  criticism.  It 
is  upon  the  Classification  of  the  Sciences,  and  we  thought  it  very 
interesting.  I  had  a  feeling  last  year  that  I  would  much  rather 
he  should  give  a  Geological  course,  as  that  would  be  more  likely 
to  interest  such  an  audience;  still,  I  can  see  that  for  himself, 
it  is  quite  desirable  to  get  away  from  the  subject  he  is  so  perpet- 
ually occupied  with,  and  I  hope  he  can  make  this  course  tolerably 
instructive,  if  not  popular.  I  can  give  you  no  idea  how  much 
he  enjoyed  Commemoration  Day.  He  had  never  once  thought 
of  going,  and  was  seated  at  his  writing  as  usual,  when  Edward 
Hale,  who  was  driving  Miss  Rotch  over  to  Cambridge,  stopped 
and  left  three  tickets  for  the  family  at  the  door.  So  Nathan  and 
Mr.  Lesley  and  Susie  got  a  carryall,  and  drove  over.  They  were 
too  late  for  the  first  part  in  the  church,  but  heard  and  saw  all  the 
best,  and  then  went  to  the  dinner,  which  was  very  fine.  Peter 
said  it  was  altogether  a  most  splendid  occasion,  and  he  would  not 
have  missed  it  on  any  account.  He  thought  it  was  very  emotional 
as  well  as  brilliant,  the  music,  poems,  ail,  truly  touching.  He 
thought  Judge  Loring  presided  better  than  he  ever  saw  any  one. 
He  saw  and  spoke  to  many  old  friends,  and  said  he  really  wished 
he  had  been  educated  at  Cambridge,  to  have  the  feeling  of  belong- 
ing there  that  they  all  seem  to  enjoy  so  much.  John  S.  Dwight's 
poem  was  the  best  I  have  seen.  .  .  .They  all  say  that  Lowell's 
was  the  finest,  but  that  has  not  been  printed,  so  that  I  have 
not  seen  it.  Peter  sat  with  Nathan's  [Hale]  class  at  the  dinner, 
so  he  was  in  very  good  company.  All  said  that  the  arrangements 
were  as  perfect  as  possible.  .  .  . 

Beveexy,  Aug.  7,  1865.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her 
Aunt  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  Saturday  ...  he  [Peter]  went  to  Joseph's  at  Jamaica 
Plain,  and  remained  till  to-day.  He  wrote  the  whole  of  his  third 
lecture  while  there,  on  "The  Antiquity  of  Man,"  which  I  am 
sure  he  could  not  have  done  here.  He  is  now  going  to  rest,  and 
roam  the  rocks  with  the  children  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then  he 
will  go  up  again  and  write  his  fourth  lecture,  either  at  Joseph's 
or  at  the  Hales'.  .  .  . 


i865  LAST  YEAR  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  501 

Aug.  13,  1865.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  This  morning  I  lay  on  the  grass,  and  read  the  third 
volume  through — of  "  Sir  Charles  Grandison."  I  wish  I  had  known 
this  admirable  book  in  early  life.  It  would  have  saved  me  many 
a  heartache,  and  other  people  many  a  piece  of  ill-bred  imperti- 
nence from  me.  But  it  is  never  too  late  to  mend.  I  shall  make 
some  improvements  yet. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  say  here  that  my  father  continued 
enthusiastically  to  peruse  "Sir  Charles  Grandison"  to  the 
very  end  of  the  ninth  volume,  and  ever  after  declared  it  a 
noble  work. 

Jamaica  Plain,  Aug.  22,  1865.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  cannot  write  on  my  fifth  lecture  to-day,  as  I  intended 
to  do.  My  sick  feelings  of  the  last  three  days  have  destroyed  or 
driven  off  all  my  thoughts;  and  it  is  a  difficult  lecture  to  begin. 

...  I  often  query  what  it  is  that  makes  us  so  fond  of  express- 
ing ourselves.  The  fool  has  the  prompting,  like  the  wise  man. 
The  birds  and  beasts  share  it  also.  Utterance — the  going  out 
of  ourselves,  as  a  tree  pushes  forth  its  life  in  leaves  and  buds  and 
fruit.  God  seems  not  above  the  sentiment  which  he  has  bestowed 
upon  all  his  creatures. 

But  if  we  could  restrain  the  faculty  or  passion — to  its  legiti- 
mate indulgence!  Only  speak  what  is  good  and  true — and  when 
we  have  something  good  and  true,  or  useful,  or  beautiful,  to 
say!  .  .  . 

On  the  24th  he  is  in  Northampton  at  the  meeting  of  the 
American  Association  for  Advancement  of  Science. 

.  .  .  The  meeting  began  with  thirteen,  but  has  improved 
steadily.  To-day  we  will  have  twenty.  But  we  miss  Bache, 
Henry,  Agassiz,*  Gray,  Wyman,  Hall,  the  Rogerses,  old  Silliman, 
dear  old  Hitchcock,  old  Dr.  Hare,  and  all  the  ancient  worthies 
whose  eloquent  speeches  and  sallies,  and  quarrels  lent  life  to  the 
A.  A.  A.  S. 

Dalton  and  Rood  were  sworn  in.  They  do  not  look  like 
giants,  but  are  no  doubt  first-class  men.  To-day  we  meet  lo-i; 
dine;  go  to  Amherst  under  Whitney's  escort;  and  business  at 
7-30-  •  •  • 

*  Absent  merely. 


502  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xix 

Northampton,  Aug.  26,  1865.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  accept  your  enthusiastic  admiration  of  my  poor  lect- 
ures in  good  faith  and  with  much  pleasure.  .  .  .  But  your  praises 
of  the  first  four  lectures  make  it  all  the  harder  to  look  forward  to 
a  successful  handling  of  the  remaining  eight.  I  have  not  been 
able  to  touch  the  fifth  yet.  Every  hour  of  every  day  has  been 
occupied  either  in  sleeping,  or  eating,  or  croqueting  with  these 
lovely  girls,  or  council  meetings,  or  business  meetings,  or  general 
meetings,  or  rides  to  Amherst,  or  talks  with  Whitney,  Newberry, 
Pumpelly  and  Ben  [Lyman] — that  I  could  do  nothing — not  even 
write  to  you.  Everybody  is  kind.  Hitchcock  (Charles  I  mean) 
slept  here  last  night,  and  won  our  hearts.  Sterry  Hunt  dined  with 
us,  and  his  mother  and  sisters  spent  two  hours  here  also.  Lots 
of  nice  geology!  The  meeting,  twenty-three  strong,  perfectly 
harmonious!  All  sorts  of  clever  papers!  Brother  Sam  and  the 
girls  entoozimoozy !  At  six  this  afternoon,  all  was  at  an  end. 
I  have  just  declined  a  party  at  the  Bakers',  and  seen  all  the  girls 
and  old  folks  off,  and  had  an  hour  with  Mrs.  Thayer,  and  must 
take  tea  with  her  to-morrow  night.  Amiable  uncle!  Lovely 
nieces!  are  become  quite  household  terms  among  us.  Monday 
morning  I  go  to  Springfield  to  spend  the  day  and  night.  Now 
I  must  go  to  bed.     Adieu.  .  .  . 

Poor  Lesquereux  has  been  down  with  inflammation  of  the  lungs, 
and  even  couldn't  complete  his  paper  for  me  to  read.  Hall  has 
gone  to  Maryland  this  week. 

I  am  delighted  with  Thoreau's  letters.  Some  of  his  sentences 
are  superb,  and  ennobling  to  the  reader  rather  than  to  the  writer. 
I  was  deeply  impressed  with  his  chapters  on  love — chastity — 
etc.  He  says  it  is  not  enough  to  be  truthful;  we  must  have 
worthy  thoughts  and  high  designs,  to  be  truthful  about. — He 
says  the  imagination  and  the  heart  are  equally  expressed  in  love; 
if  one  be  insulted,  the  other  is  estranged,  and  the  imagination  is 
the  most  sensitive.  I  have  long  felt  this,  but  never  knew  before 
how  to  translate  it  into  words.  How  indebted  we  are  to  these 
souls  of  genius! 

In  October  he  went  again  to  the  mouth  of  the  St.  Lawrence 
and  to  Montreal,  returning  in  November  much  benefited  by 
the  change.  My  mother  writes  to  her  brother,  "He  has 
written  the  greater  part  of  three  lectures  in  his  absence,  and 
says  he  feels  quite  easy  in  his  mind  now,  and  will  do  no 
more  field  work  until  spring." 


i865  LAST  YEAR  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  503 

Philadelphia,  Nov.,  1865.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her 
Aunt  Catherine  Robbins. 

.  .  .  Peter  has  been  driving  away  at  his  Lectures,  at  the  table 
near  me,  and  every  now  and  then  coming  to  read  me  a  few  pages, 
and  get  my  opinion.  He  is  now  writing  the  eleventh  and  it 
semes  to  me,  he  has  kept  up  the  interest  remarkably  well.  Don't 
you  think  I  am  very  presumptuous  ?  I  have  given  him  the  sub- 
ject for  his  twelfth  Lecture,  and  he  has  promised  to  write  on  it, 
and  to  take  my  heads  to  enlarge  upon.  I  want  him  to  give  a  sort 
of  resume  of  the  whole,  and  then  state  just  how  much  and  how 
little  the  exact  Sciences  can  do  for  the  human  mind;  how  they 
enlarge,  by  giving  a  grand  picture  of  all  created  things ;  and  how 
they  belittle,  by  confining  the  attention  to  details;  how  they 
materialize  the  mind  and  nature,  by  the  habit  of  looking  into 
causes;  and  how  they  may  spiritualize,  by  taking  us  behind  the 
curtain  and  giving  us  a  grand  view  of  the  Divine  Hand,  in  the 
very  act  of  creation.  This  lecture,  I  thought  out,  one  night 
when  I  was  lying  awake,  and  was  highly  pleased  to  find  that  it 
was  suggestive  to  him.  And  if  you  are  able  to  go  and  hear  any, 
I  wish  you  would  hear  this,  and  tell  me  how  you  like  it.  .  .  . 

But  the  twelfth  lecture  was  never  written.  My  father 
says  in  the  preface  to  the  lectures  published  in  1868:  "Not 
much  more  than  half  of  each  lecture  was  read,  except  in 
the  case  of  the  last  two,  which  occupied  four  evenings;  the 
course  being  courteously  extended  to  that  purpose.  The 
twelfth  lecture  was,  therefore,  never  written  out,  and  is 
committed  for  the  present  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader, 
with  the  suggestion  that  it  would  better  justify  one  portion 
of  the  title  chosen  for  the  book*  than  anything  actually 
to  be  found  between  its  covers. " 

*  Man's  Origin  and  Destiny. 


CHAPTER  XX 

Lowell  Lectures,    i  865-1866 

My  father  went  to  Boston  to  deliver  his  course  of  lectures 
before  the  Lowell  Institute  the  latter  part  of  December,  1865, 
and  spent  the  next  six  or  eight  weeks  there,  enjoying  greatly 
meeting  old  friends,  and,  as  he  expressed  it,  "the  having  but 
one  thin'g  to  attend  to."  /" 

The  title  of  his  course  was  j-^' Man's  Origin  and  Destiny, 
Sketched  from  the  Platform  of  Hie_Sciences";*  and  the  titles 
of  the  respective  lectures  were: — 

1.  On  the  Classification  of  the  Sciences. 

2.  On  the  Genius  of  the  Physical  Sciences,  Ancient  and  Mod- 

ern. 

3.  The  Geological  Antiquity  of  Man. 

4.  On  the  Dignity  of  Mankind. 

5.  On  the  Unity  of  Mankind. 

6.  On  the  Early  Social  Life  of  Man. 

7.  On  Language,  as  a  Test  of  Race. 

8.  The  Origin  of  Architecture. 

9.  The  Growth  of  the  Alphabet. 

10.  The  Four  Types  of  Religious  Worship. 

11.  On  Arkite  Symbolism. 

12.  (Never  written.) 

He  must  have  enjoyed  greatly  writing  these  lectures,  for 
they  embodied  not  only  results  of  his  serious  occupations,  but 
the  fruits  of  his  fancy  and  imagination.  Ethnology  and 
Archaeology,  History,  Philosophy,  and  Religion  had  occu- 
pied his  more  leisure  hours  since  youth;  and  he  drew  from 
his  knowledge  of  these,  as  much  as  from  his  geological  and 

*  "Man's  Origin  and  Destiny"  was  published  in  London  in  1868  by 
N.  Trubner  &  Co. 

A  second  edition,  enlarged,  was  published  by  Geo.  H.  Ellis,  Boston, 
in  1881. 

504 


i86s  LOWELL  LECTURES  505 

other  scientific  learning.  The  last  lecture — "On  Arkite 
Symbolism" — was  indeed  so  much  a  hohhy  (in  the  eyes  of 
others,  at  any  rate)  that  in  the  last  edition  of  his  lectures, 
published  in  1881  in  Boston,  he  left  it  out,  and  added  sev- 
eral chapters  in  its  place,  entitled: — 

Chapter  11.  The  Possible  in  Destiny. 
"        12.  The  Destiny  of  Man. 
"       13.  The  Physical  Destiny  of  the  Race. 
"        14.  The  Social  Destiny  of  the  Race. 
"       15.  The  Future  Economics  of  Mankind.     ' 
"        16.  The  Intellectual  and  Moral  Destiny  of  the  Race. 

Boston,  Dec.  28,  1865.     Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

...  It  is  Thursday  morning,  and  the  ordeal  is  over.  My  first 
lecture  is  delivered — I  do  not  know  how.  I  was  terribly  fright- 
ened— don't  laugh!  and  could  scarcely  speak.  Had  I  started 
off  as  I  used  to  do,  I  should  have  broken  down  square  in  quarter 
of  an  hour.  But  I  spoke  very  low,  and  very  slow,  and  got  through 
just  within  the  limits  of  the  hour,  by  hurrying  the  last  three 
pages.  .  .  .  "-^ 

It   was   a   very  nice  audience, — chiefly  consisting  of  men.     J 
ut  there  were  a  few  women  knitting.  ^ 

.__.  .  But  I  slept,  so  sweetly!    And  I  am  so  relieved  of  all  care! 

It  is  heaven  upon  earth,  here,  with  nothing  to  do  but  read,  and 
talk,  and  think!  ,  .  . 

Jamaica  Plain,  Dec.  31,  1865.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Oh  for  my  old  love  of  letter-writing,  back  again!  How 
I  did  love  it  once!  It  would  give  you  so  much  pleasure  to  have 
every  day  from  me  a  real  good  jolly  gossip.  .  .  . 

But  now,  burning  with  loving  thoughts  I  sit  down,  and  before 
I  can  get  "Dear  Love"  down — puff! — away  they  have  gone,  and 
some  hard,  cold,  uninteresting  facts  flow  out  of  my  pen's  nib 
instead. 

So  it  is  with  thought — as  with  affection.  No  more  troop 
round  me,  various  reflections  of  the  day's  events,  in  similes  and 
apologues  and  moral  maxims  or  religious  inspirations,  as  of 
wont.  All  is  cold,  dry  matter  of  fact  now.  Business — money- 
making — has  killed  my  imagination  and  hardened  my  heart. 

No,  I  am  wrong  there ;  for  I  find  it  is  only  a  sort  of  volcanic 
crust  over  the  burning  lava.    While  the  audience  laughed,  last 


5o6  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xx 

evening,  at  my  story  of  the  poor  woman  who  sent  me  her  horo- 
scope to  make,  I  came  very  near  crying  right  in  their  faces;  it 
struck  me  as  so  very  piteous. 

I  think  a  little  rest  and  leisure  and  happy  intercourse  with 
friends  would  restore  me  to  my  youthful  amiability.  I  shall 
try  what  six  weeks  will  do  towards  it,  at  any  rate. 

They  are  quite  disappointed  at  not  seeing  you  nere.  .  .  . 

I  am  reading  a  nice  book.  Dr.  Newman's  "Apologia  pro 
vita  sua";  against  the  Reverend  C.  Kingsley.  It  is  remarkable 
for  style, — clear,  forcible,  not  at  all  stilted  or  scholastic, — and  for 
animus,  bold,  polite,  frank,  but  with  a  suppressed  passion,  and, 
I  cannot  help  thinking,  secretly  chafing  pride,  and  animosity, 
struggling  to  express  themselves.  His  logic  is  trenchant.  His 
credulity  unbounded;  he  believes  firmly  in  the  blood  of  St.  Jan- 
uary !    His  autobiography  is  very  na'if . 

We  have  all  sorts  of  talk,  on  all  sorts  of  subjects.  The  news- 
papers; the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes;  Carlyle's  "Frederick  H."; 
Desor's  pamphlets;  "Roba  di  Roma " ;  Whately's  "Vestiges  of  the 
Natural  History  of  the  Creation";  things  old  and  new.  .  .  . 

Boston,  Jan.  3,  1866.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  have  had  a  splendid  time.  Yesterday  I  came  in  early 
and  drew  a  diagram  in  the  cold  rooms,  and  then  got  a  nice  dinner 
down  town;  took  the  cars  and  spent  the  p.m.  with  Chauncey 
Wright  discussing  the  absolute  and  the  conditional  until  six 
o'clock,  when  we  made  a  call  on  Aunt  Kitty;  and  then  passed 
on  to  the  Eliots'  house.  We  took  a  little  side-table  tea  together, 
we  three,  in  the  library  behind  the  parlor.  .  .  .  He  [Charles  W. 
Eliot]  is  fully  engrossed  with  his  Technological  Institute  Chair 
of  Chemistry,  and  I  happened  to  know  some  things  of  interest 
to  him  specially  at  the  moment.  We  had  a  nice  time,  until 
Frank  Storer  dropped  in;  then  Cooke,  the  University  Chemist; 
and  they  continued  to  come  all  along  for  an  hour, — C.  E.  Norton, 
Alex.  Agassiz,  Jeffries  Wyman,  Lovering,  Asa  Gray,  Prof.  Child, 
Atkinson  of  the  Technological,  and  Watson,  their  Professor  of 
Civil  Engineering.  Chauncey  came  along  also,  but  Gurney  sent 
an  excuse.  We  had  a  jolly  evening,  and  I  had  a  good  talk  with 
every  one  of  them.  Discussed  Academy  with  half  a  dozen,  and 
got  authority  from  Lovering,  the  Secretary,  to  say  that  the  Ameri- 
can Association  would  certainly  be  called  to  meet  next  August.  .  .  . 

A  charming  little  breakfast, — only  people  keep  me  talking, 
talking,  and  I  can't  get  enough  to  satisfy  my  hunger.  I  am  get- 
ting to  feel  well,  and  enjoy  society  extremely.     While  Agassiz 


i866  LOWELL  LECTURES  507 

was  talking  to  me  about  the  senselessness  of  scientific  quarrel- 
ling, Gray  came  and  sat  down  beside  me  to  make  sure  I  should  be 
at  the  next  Academy  Meeting,  Tuesday,  at  Theo.  Lyman's. 

.  .  .  Young  Agassiz  is  a  fine  fellow.  I  had  nice  talks  with 
him  and  Norton.  Gray  has  a  new  spider,  about  which  I  will 
write  my  Meg.  ...  I  must  send  this  letter  ofif  to-day,  and  write 
some  more,  and  go  to  work  to  try  to  resolve  which  paragraphs 
of  my  lecture  to  leave  out  this  evening.  I  sail  between  Scylla 
and  Charybdis;  desiring  to  keep  all  the  introduction,  and  not  to 
abridge  my  facts;  but  Hesiod  says — ''He  is  a  fool  who  knows 
not  that  the  half  is  better  than  the  whole."  .  .  , 

Brookline,  Jan.  4,  1866.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  am  happy  to  say  the  audience  last  night  (No.  3)  was 
better  than  ever,  at  least  700  I  should  think,  and  50  turned  away 
by  the  doorkeeper  for  coming  too  late.  Mr.  John  A.  Lowell 
and  Mrs.  Lowell,  Mrs.  Dr.  Cotting,  Nathan  and  Lucretia  [Hale], 
Joseph  Lyman  and  Miss  Clapp,  Dr.  Gould,  and  Estes  Howe, 
and  Mr.  Converse,  came  in  to  see  me  before  and  after  the  lecture; 
and  Whipple  and  his  wife  stayed  with  me  to  the  shutting  up, 
loud  in  their  praises  of  my  dramatic  powers!  I  tell  you  this 
nonsense  because  you  love  a  little  flattery,  and  I  can't  administer 
it  in  any  other  way.  If,  for  instance,  I  should  tell  you  all  that 
Prof.  Child  told  me  about  you,  night  before  last,  how  he  saw  you 
at  Mr.  Emerson's  once  and  said  you  looked  like  a  "Middle-Age 
Angel,"  and  they  all  exclaimed:  "rather  young  for  that!"  you 
would  accuse  me  of  poking  fun  at  you.  I  was  enamoured  of  his 
child  face  that  evening,  and  warm  heart.  .  .  .  After  dining  at 
the  hotel  yesterday,  I  called  on  H.  Apthorpe  at  his  office;  and 
towards  dark  on  Dr.  A.  A.  Gould,  who  made  me  stop  to  tea,  and 
promise  to  do  so  every  night  I  came  to  town,  "just  as  if  I  were 
your  brother,  or  more  so,"  said  he.  After  lecture  (which  he 
went  to,  in  spite  of  its  being  Natural  History  Society  night)  he 
insisted  on  my  walking  back  with  him  to  this  house;  but  I  re- 
fused, as  people  had  been  making  me  talk  half  the  day,  and 
the  lecture  was  tremendously  fatiguing.  So  I  went  for  half  an 
hour  to  the  Boston  Museum  to  see  the  tail  end  of  "  Jeannette";  and 
so  to  bed,  .  .  .  and  after  breakfast  took  the  cars  and  came  here. 
Mrs.  Hale  and  Lucretia  are  sitting  in  the  cheery  winter  "Green 
Room,"  sewing.  I  have  read  them  extracts  from  your  last 
letters, — and  the  end  of  '  Doctor  Marigold";  and  discussed 
the  printing  of  Lucretia 's  Httle  "Communion  Make-up,"  a  copy 
of  which  I  will  soon  send  to  you.    The  introduction  by  Edward 


5o8  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xx 

is  very  good;  and  extracts  from  Colani's  Sermons*  very  touching. 
So  is  the  sweet  hymn  by  Faber  on  page  41,  "The  true  Shep- 
herd." Lucretia  tells  me  that  she  is  commencing  the  transla- 
tion of  Colani's  three  volumes  of  printed  sermons,  to  be  published 
by  Mr.  Low,  Chairman  of  the  Unitarian  Association.  .  .  . 

Jamaica  Plain,  January  4.     To  his  Wife. 

...  I  ought  to  have  told  you  that  I  cut  out  all  the  sentences 
and  paragraphs  which  I  thought  you  would  be  sorry  to  have  me 
recite,  and  made  my  statements  of  the  oppositions  of  Science 
and  Religion  as  mild  as  possible.  Dr.  Gould  gave  me  some  kind 
advice  about  it,  and  I  remembered  Hesiod's  verse,  "  the  fool  knows 
that  half  is  more  than  all."  I  think  I  am  past  the  breakers  now. 
But  in  spite  of  my  pruning-hook,  I  found  the  end  of  the  hour  at 
hand,  as  I  arrived  at  the  "  Stop  here  "  mark;  which  I  had  arranged 
to  pass  unnoticed  and  finish.  What  can  I  do?  Shall  I  let  the 
whole  series  push  forward  like  one  of  Pharaoh's  snakes?  Or 
shall  I  chop  the  heads  and  tails  of  all  the  lectures  off  ?  .  .  . 

It  is  a  great  blessing  to  both  of  us,  to  all  of  us,  that  you  are 
disposed  to  make  the  most  of  what  you  have  about  you,  and  not 
murmiu-  at  Providence.  For  myself,  never  mortal  had  a  happier 
lot,  a  richer  portion.  Such  a  wife!  such  children!  such  friends! 
such  lots  of  them!  such  a  training  for  life-work!  such  a  nice 
science  to  work  in  and  for!  such  an  age  to  be  born  in!  such  a 
Country  to  call  one's  own! 

Yesterday  I  walked  over,  after  dinner  [from  Brooldine]; 
the  Pond  open  still;  but  this  morning  the  thermometer  read  at 
8.30  o'clock  4  degrees  below  zero,  and  the  warmer  water  was 
steaming  Uke  an  overdriven  horse.  It  was  a  curious  spectacle. 
I  shall  stop  in  the  house  all  day  and  copy  a  lecture  on  the  origin 
of  writing,  that  has  been  just  found  among  Theo.  Parker's  MSS., 
written  when  25  years  of  age,  before  he  had  ever  had  a  day's 
schoohng.  I  read  it  last  evening  before  bed-time,  when  left  alone 
in  the  parlor.  All  the  afternoon  and  evening  Joseph  [Lyman] 
and  I  kept  up  a  conversation  on  all  subjects.  He  is  now  in  the 
parlor,  hard  at  it  over  Sam  Haldeman's  "Affixes  and  Prefixes," 
which  he  greatly  admires.  I  told  him  Sam's  history  yesterday. 
How  fimny  to  see  the  intense  genealogical  tendency  of  the 
Robbins  blood! ... 


*Timothee  Colani,  theologian  et  publiciste  protestant,  ne  en  1824;  mort 
en  1888. 


i866  LOWELL  LECTURES  509 

Philadelphia,  Jan.  4,  1866.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  have  read  when  my  head  would  let  me  some  fine  arti- 
cles in  the  Littell .  What  witch-work  in  Jamaica !  How  can  the 
English  ever  twit  us  again?  Lucy  Chase's  letter  gives  a  most 
lamentable  picture  of  the  state  of  feeling  towards  both  Yankees 
and  negroes  in  both  South  Carolina  and  Georgia,  says  that  she 
and  Sarah  were  treated  grossly  in  Charleston,  and  heard  the 
same  talk  everywhere,  arrogance  and  brutality,  and  universal 
talk  of  the  negro  as  merely  an  animal.  I  must  say,  I  see  little 
hope  for  this  generation. 

Ben  has  been  in  this  evening,  and  has  read  me  the  Prospectus 
of  the  Social  Science  organization  in  Boston.  And  I  should 
think  that  that  association  would  be  the  place  for  you  some  day 
to  ventilate  your  Land  Reform  ideas.  .  .  . 

I  remember  my  father's  saying  once  that  he  thought 
land  should  have  been  made  free,  as  the  waters  and  air 
are  free, — only  available  to  be  borrowed  and  held  for  actual 
uses,  and  not  for  private  property.  Probably  he  held  in 
theory  somewhat  the  view  which  Henry  George  later  ad- 
vocated. 

Jamaica  Plaest,  Jan.  7,  1866.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Lecture  IV.  ought  to  have  come  off  last  night.  But 
Lecture  III.  was  not  quite  finished,  so  I  had  to  read  six  more 
pages;  then  explain  the  diagrams  on  the  walls;  and  then  begin 
Lecture  IV.,  which  of  course  I  could  only  get  20  pages  into,  leav- 
ing the  other  30  for  next  Wednesday  night.  You  see  the  con- 
sequence: I  shall  have  no  Xllth  lecture;  no  man  of  the  future 
to  write, — which  is  a  blessing, — nor  to  read, — which  I  am  sorry 
for 

Boston,  Jan.  7,  1866.    To  his  Wife. 

...  It  is  very  encouraging,  I  confess,  to  get  hearty  commen- 
dations from  competent  judges;  and  yet  I  can't  help  entertain- 
ing and  acting  upon  the  conviction  that  no  one  is  so  good  a  judge 
of  one's  mistakes  and  one's  leanness  as  one's  own  self.  I  am 
extremely  dissatisfied  with  these  performances.  They  treat  the 
subjects  concerned  with  an  appearance  of  profundity,  but  real 
superficiality.  They  are  the  result  of  years  of  reading  and  reflec- 
tion; yet  are  after  all  mere  outline  sketches.  I  see  my  mistake 
now.    Had  I  taken  but  one  subject  (say  the  Unity  of  Mankind), 


5IO  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,  xx 

and  said  all  that  could  be  said,  and  given  all  the  illustrations  in 
full,  and  then  permitted  the  parts  of  the  theme  to  stimulate  my 
fancy  and  draw  out  my  experiences — I  should  have  done  some- 
thing to  live  and  last.     But  we  must  live  and  learn.  .  .  . 

Jamaica  Plain,  Jan.  8,  1866.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  foresee  great  trouble  in  the  South;  but  not  of  apubHc 
or  general  kind.  It  will  be  personal  abuse,  such  as  Lucy  Chase 
speaks  of.  Think  that  it  was  from  1780,  when  the  war  [of  the 
Revolution]  really  stopped,  until  1789  before  a  good  working 
Constitution  could  be  got  up.  It  will  be  some  years  before  we 
settle  down  in  our  old,  humdrum,  money-making  ways  again. 
Think  too  how  long  the  Tory  sentiments  burned  and  made  them- 
selves obnoxious  in  speech.  It  was  1812  — 1782=:  30  years 
before  war  broke  out  again  with  England;  and  that  with  a  steadily 
growing  antagonism.  But  the  course  of  years  will  be  all  on  the 
side  of  knitting  together  the  North  and  South. 

As  for  your  suggestion  of  ventilating  my  land  views  before 
the  Social  Congress,— had  you  seen  the  absurd  display  it  made ! — 
Thank  you;  no! .  .  . 

Jan.  8,  1866.    To  his  Wife. 

...  I  believe  Miss  Clapp  sent  you  a  flaming  notice  of  my 
Wednesday  lecture,  by  Mr.  Whipple  in  his  paper,  the  Transcript. 
Mr.  D3^ke's  enthusiasm  is  worth  something,  for  it  is  all  pure  love; 
but  Mrs.  Ball's  and  Mr.  Whipple's  and  G.  S.  Hillard's,  etc.,  etc., 
comes  out  of  the  head;  and  I  don't  think  as  much  of  Yankee 
heads  as  I  do  of  Yankee  hearts. 

Phineas  Dyke  was  an  old  friend  of  my  Lesley  grand- 
parents, had  rocked  my  father  in  his  cradle,  and  was  abso- 
lutely devoted  to  the  whole  family.  My  father,  when  he 
became  librarian  of  the  American  Philosophical  Society, 
had  made  him  his  assistant,  with  a  tiny  salary;  and,  although 
he  could  hardly  serve  in  any  capacity  in  a  modern  library, 
he  did  very  well  then  as  the  devoted  attendant  at  that  quaint 
and  charming  old  establishment.  Perhaps  his  mental 
powers  were  not  great,  but  he  had  a  heart  of  gold. 

Parker  House,  Boston,  Thursday,  Jan.  n,  1866.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  How  can  I  describe  to  you  the  excitement  which  has  fol- 
lowed the  ennui  of  those  bitter  cold  days  of  Saturday  and  Sunday 


i866  LOWELL  LECTURES  51 1 

and  Monday?  When  the  warmth  returned,  I  came  in  town 
Tuesday  to  see  Rist[ori].*  That  evening  I  took  tea  with  Dr. 
A.  A.  Gould,  and  walked  with  him  to  Theodore  Lyman's,  in 
Beacon  Street,  where  the  American  Academy  were  assembling. 
But  mistaking  the  number,  etc.,  we  walked  far  down  Beacon  Street 
into  the  Back  Bay  part,  and  got  back  to  find  about  40  members 
seated  in  the  magnificent  parlor  in  front  of  tables  covered  with 
virtii,  and  strips  covered  with  diagrams.  It  was  an  uncommonly 
rich  evening.  Five  members  read  papers.  Lyman  himself  was 
describing  his  vases  when  we  entered.  I  was  led  through  to  a 
seat  between  Pickering,  Wyman  and  Gould.  Chauncey  was 
secretary  in  the  far  corner,  and  Gray  presided  next  him  in  an 
arm-chair.  Gould  pressed  me  to  follow  up  Lyman's  remarks,  but 
I  decHned.  Then  Wyman  gave  us  a  fine  paper  on  the  normal 
irregularity  of  the  honey-bee's  comb.  Chauncey  followed  with 
a  fine  statement  that  the  economy  of  the  bee  was  rational,  but 
not  sensible,  and  the  absurdity  of  the  old  saying  that  the  bee 
builded  more  accurately  than  the  mathematicians  calculated. 
He  had  not  spoken  before  in  the  American  Academy  for  five 
years!  I  was  in  luck.  EHot  followed,  describing  a  power  meas- 
urer or  dynamometer  [sketch]. 

I  cannot  describe  it  for  you  on  paper,  but  it  is  one  of  a  splendid 
series  of  happy  inventions  by  Mr.  Ruggles,  who  invented  the 
press  of  his  name,  and  the  Boston  Blind  Alphabet.  Finally, 
Cook  gave  us  an  extraordinary  paper  on  his  discovery  of  the 
enormous  effect  excessively  moist  atmospheres  (high  dew  points) 
have  on  the  spectrum,  multiplying  and  strengthening  the  dark 
lines  in  the  yellow  and  red  part  of  it. 

Adjourning  downstairs,  to  the  oysters  and  ice-cream,  F. 
Storer  introduced  me  to  Dr.  Warren  (Petroleum  chemist).  Ed- 
ward Hale  did  the  same  to  Mr.  Marsh,  the  new  palaeontologist  of 
New  Haven  (just  from  three  years  in  Europe).  His  collection 
of  Trias  and  St.  Cassian  (upper  Keuper)  beds  is  the  best  in 
America.  I  was  introduced  to  Dr.  Bigelow;  Clarke,  Agassiz's 
enemy;  Rufus  Ellis'  brother  and  Geo.  B.  Emerson  both  intro- 
duced themselves  to  me,  to  inquire  after  you.  Pickering,  Alex. 
Agassiz,  and  others  had  talks  with  me.  Finally,  Theo.  Lyman 
got  me  to  agree  that,  as  he  intended  to  carry  his  vases  to  the 
Warren  party  Thursday  evening,  I  would  say  something. 

Chaimcey  stuck  to  me  when  Dr.  A.  A.  Gould  left  me,  smoked 
and  talked  metaphysics  in  my  room  before  the  fire,  until  two 

*  Ris(  in  MS.  probably  means  Ristori,  as  she  was  in  America  in  1866. 


512  LIFE   AND   LETTERS  chap,  xx 

o'clock  in  the  morning.  Of  course  I  couldn't  sleep,  so  I  read  up 
for  Thursday  evening  until  four  o'clock.  .  .  . 

Wednesday,  I  spent  three  hours  with  Pickering  over  his  strange 
MSS.  He  is  Coptic  mad.  Thinks  Coptic  the  Mother  tongue; 
thinks  its  letters  (Egyptian  hieroglyphics)  represent  Hfe,  marriage, 
birth,  childhood,  school  days,  business,  etc.,  in  a  regular  order. 
Many  of  his  special  discoveries  are  beautiful.  But  his  whole 
system  seems  to  me  to  be  the  merest  dream.  It  is  not  supported 
by  more  than  a  few  scattered  coincidences,  which  can  be  other- 
wise accounted  for.  He  gave  me  some  important  light  however 
on  Egyptological  matters,  and  I  thank  my  stars  I  went  to  see 
him  when  I  did.  He  was  evidently  delighted  to  find  anybody 
to  take  an  interest  in  it,  and  said  I  must  stay  to  dinner  and  see 
three  times  as  much  which  remained  over.  His  great  compara- 
tive Flora,  based  on  the  Egyptian  Expedition  was  printed  500 
pages  before  the  war  and  then  stopped;  500  still  remain  un- 
printed. 

After  dining  at  the  Parker  House,  I  called  on  Mrs.  Henshaw, 
who  was  glad  to  hear  about  you;  and  walked  round  the  new  city 
of  palaces;  round  the  skating  pond  (a  fine  sight),  to  the  Provi- 
dence Depot,  and  reached  Joseph's  house  at  three.  Got  my 
lecture  and  a  change  of  clothes,  returned  at  four,  and  wrote  until 
seven;  hastily  teaed,  and  lectured  to  the  same  audience  as  before. 
I  saw  Gray,  Cotter,  C.  Wright,  Estes  Howe,  Mayor  Quincy, 
John  A.  Lowell,  Mrs.  Sohier,  and  lots  of  others; — Whipple  again, 
Nathan  Hale  and  Lucre tia  and  Dr.  Hedge.  .  .  .  You  would 
hear  a  pin  drop  from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  One  lady  fainted 
from  heat,  and  was  taken  out;  but  otherwise  all  is  as  still  as 
death.  I  have  recovered  command  of  my  throat  and  chest 
muscles,  and  speak  very  slowly  and  distinctly.  Hillard  and 
Susan  were  there  again;  and  after  lecture  I  walked  up  and  sat 
an  hour  with  them.  I  see  nothing  of  them,  nor  of  any  friends. 
I  am  in  the  hands  of  a  new  set.  Aunt  Kitty  came  in,  but  did 
not  see  me.  Ben  Gould  has  sent  me  a  note  begging  me  to  fix  a 
dining  day  with  him.  I  am  to  dine  to-day  at  three,  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Quincy,  4  Park  Street.  I  shall  go  to  see  Mrs.  Sohier, 
5  Park  Place.  This  evening  I  take  tea  with  Dr.  Gould,  and  go 
to  the  Warren  party.  Sunday,  I  spend  with  Estes  Howe.  Mon- 
day at  three  I  go  out  to  the  Wares'. 

You  can't  imagine  what  amusement  my  flat-footed  advocacy 
of  the  monkey  origin  of  man  occasioned.  There  was  no  end  to 
the  jokes.  I  couldn't  get  such  an  audience  anywhere  else  in  the 
United  States,  .  .  . 


J 


i866  LOWELL  LECTURES  513 

Jamaica  Plain,  Friday,  Jan.  12,  1866.    To  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  After  breakfast  I  hung  my  pictures  for  Saturday,  and 
made  a  new  diagram  of  the  Dolmen  distribution  in  France,  for 
the  evening  party.  Then  I  wrote  to  you,  and  then  studied  up 
what  I  should  say  respecting  the  burials  of  the  ancients. 

At  5.30  I  returned  to  Parker's  and  rested  for  an  hour,  and 
then  took  tea  with  Dr.  Gould,  and  walked  with  him  to  Mr.  Sils- 
bee's,  at  the  far  west  end  of  Beacon  Street,  where  the  Warren  Club 
assembled.  Thirty  of  us  sat  round  the  walls  of  the  front  parlor, 
and  spilled  into  the  centre  hall  (upstairs).  Dr.  Williams,  the 
great  ocuKst,  had  on  the  centre  table  all  sorts  of  specula  for  the 
eye,  ear,  throat,  bladder,  and  explained  their  uses  and  improve- 
ments. Theo.  Lyman  had  on  the  table  his  urn  and  tazza  and 
lamp,  and  went  over  the  same  description  that  he  gave  at  the 
Academy  meeting  Tuesday  night;  and  then  called  on  me  by 
name  to  explain.  I  said  I  did  so  with  diffidence,  because  my 
reading  on  the  subject  was  merely  riding  a  hobby,  and  because 
the  facts,  though  numerous,  were  not  yet  well  classified.  I  de- 
scribed the  recent  discovery  of  separated  catacombs  at  Rome, 
and  then  took  up  the  Celtic  monuments,  so  called,  and  showed 
(after  Desor's  pamphlet)  that  they  were  not  Gallic,  because  not 
to  be  found  east  of  a  line  drawn  from  Marseilles  to  Brussels. 
Here  my  map  came  in,  which  I  had  drawn  in  the  morning.  I 
described  the  Saumur  Dolmen*  (and  longed  for  a  good  draw- 
ing of  it),  and  the  contents  of  the  French  monuments.  Then 
I  described  the  new  African  discoveries,  and  gave  the  new  theory 
of  western  Europe  being  settled  from  the  Sahara  and  Atlas  by 
Berbers,  or  Tamhu  (the  name  of  the  Tuaric  language)  a  white 
race,  so  painted  on  the  XVIIth  dynasty  monuments  of  Egypt; 
a  great  and  venerated  "western"  people  clad  in  skins.  But  Dr. 
Pickering  considers  them  Northerners  (Thracians?),  because 
of  their  furs,  and  because  the  beaver  appears  for  the  first  time 
with  them  on  the  monuments.  I  described  the  African  Schujas, 
and  Sebkas,  or  Armorican  Golgols  and  Kistvaens.  .  .  . 

I  spoke  ...  for  I  suppose  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  was 
listened  to  with  great  attention,  and  clapped  at  the  close.  Lyman 
asked  me  afterwards  a  question  about  the  stone  Kelts  of  Japan, 
which  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  state  that  I  did  not  believe  in  the 
stone  age  theory,  as  it  is  commonly  stated ;  for  we  live  now  in  the 
stone  age.  Agassiz  thanked  me  for  this  afterwards.  After  I  got 
through,  Dr.  Hays  showed  us  a  most  magnificent  mass  of  den- 

*  See  picture  on  page  83,  Vol.  I.,  of  his  first  foreign  trip. 


514  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xx 

dritic  silver,  from  the  Cliff  mine,  Michigan,  and  explained  that 
there  were  no  ''fused"  metals  found  there;  but  all  were  electro- 
typed.  .  .  .  Then  Dr.  C.  T.  Jackson  described  some  fine  speci- 
mens of  glazed,  scratched  or  grooved  rocks,  which  he  brought 
in  from  California,  and  objected  to  the  formation  of  the  grooves 
by  ice,  because  he  found  them  between  all  the  upturned  slabs. 
The  glazing,  however,  was  only  on  the  outside  slab;  and  he 
objected  to  Blake's  account  of  the  glazing  by  wind-driven  sand, 
and  thought  it  was  a  fire  glazing,  or  a  hot-water  glazing.  .  .  .  Then 
Wm.  B.  Rogers  made  a  fine  little  speech  on  Humboldt's  harmonic 
note-detecting  glass  ear  tubes,  and  described  the  way  the  quality 
of  different  instrumental  tones  is  made  out  by  the  variety  and 
pitch  of  the  harmonic  notes,  grouped  about  or  involved  in  the 
keynote. 

Then  we  went  down  to  oysters,  croquettes,  ice-cream  and 
fine  brown  sherry,  and  fair  champagne.  At  eleven  I  walked 
home  with  Dr.  Gould,  and  sat  talking  until  midnight,  when  I 
went  to  Parker  House,  and  slept  until  eight  this  morning  very 
well.  But  I  feel  jaded  and  shall  stop  this  rush  next  week.  I 
found  Whipple  at  the  party — he  seems  to  fancy  my  lectures 
greatly,  and  sticks  to  me  at  other  times.  He  wrote  the  sketch 
Miss  Clapp  sent  you. 

My  mother  having  suggested  that  this  course  of  lectures 
should  be  given  in  Philadelphia,  he  expresses  entire  willing- 
ness, but  adds: — 

But  I  assure  you,  my  love,  we  can't  get  up  an  audience  for 
them  in  Philadelphia  which  will  hold  together  six  nights.  There 
never  was  got  together  in  Philadelphia  such  an  audience  as  I  had 
last  Wednesday  evening  here  in  Boston.  The  Warren  Club 
has  impressed  upon  the  educated  merchants'  class  of  Boston  a 
love  for  such  things,  and  for  Science,  not  as  means,  but  as  end, 
such  as  none  of  our  machinery  in  Philadelphia  is  capable  of 
stamping.  .  .  . 

Cambridge,  Jan.  14  [1866  ?].    To  his  Wefe. 

.  .  .  How  well  I  know  what  you  mean  by  your  Apostrophe 
to  Solitude!  No  soul  can  grow  without  its  benign  blessing;  nor 
stay  in  health.  We  lose  heart  in  a  crowd.  The  perpetual  drop- 
ping of  water  will  wear  away  the  rock. 

.  .  .  My  sixth  evening  and  fifth  lecture  was  as  well  attended 


i866  LOWELL  LECTURES  515 

as  usual  yesterday.    New  faces  were  there.     Kitty  Ireland  came 
to  speak  to  me,  and  I  shall  probably  take  tea  with  her. 

.  .  .  Friday  afternoon  and  Saturday  morning  I  was  greatly 
distressed  about  my  lecture,  and  changed  the  whole  of  it  in  my 
mind  and  resolved  to  speak  extempore.  But,  after  dining  with 
B.  A.  Gould  and  Wolcott  Gibbs  at  Cambridge,  and  going  in 
before  tea  to  hang  my  drawings,  I  got  frightened,  and  forgot  it 
all  and  so  had  to  read  straight  ahead  and  stop  (before  I  had 
begun)  on  the  35  th  page.  It  is  a  splendid  audience  and  ad- 
mirably behaved. 

Philadelphia,  Jan.  14,  1866.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  was  so  glad  I  had  persuaded  Miss  Pugh  to  stay  over 
Sunday.  When  we  went  to  church  this  morning,  Mr.  Furness 
preached  a  very  striking  sermon  on  the  41st  anniversary  of  his 
settlement  here.  He  described  his  baptism  into  Anti-slavery, 
and  a  very  impressive  scene  at  the  Tabernacle  in  New  York, 
where  Rynders'  mob  behaved  so  dreadfully,  and  the  speeches 
of  two  black  men  on  the  occasion.  Miss  Pugh  said  she  believed 
she  was  the  only  other  person  besides  himself  in  the  church,  who 
was  present  on  that  memorable  occasion,  and  she  waited  to 
speak  with  him  after  church.  .  .  . 

My  mother's  anxiety  lest  he  should  disturb  the  good 
taste  and  other  susceptibilities  of  his  distinguished  auditors 
is  amusingly  illustrated  by  a  few  lines  in  a  letter  of  this  date : — 

I  think  it  would  not  do  in  a  Boston  audience  to  introduce 
the  name  of  E.  M.  (you  wrote  it  H.  ...)...  Likewise  couldn't 
you  leave  it  to  be  inferred  that  you  don't  believe  in  Abraham, 
Isaac  and  Jacob,  without  saying  so,  out  and  out?  You  will 
know  best  about  these  things, — I  merely  suggest.  .  .  . 

Jan.  19,  1866.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  How  the  folks  laugh  at  your  timidity  about  the  Patri- 
archs !  You  would  be  astonished  how  coolly  the  audience  takes — 
anything.  I  did  not  leave  out  A. :  but  many  other  things  I  marked 
and  left  out;  and  J.  F.  Clarke  laughed  about  them  this  morning 
and  said  his  wife  was  sure  the  marks  and  erasiires  were  yours, 
and  that  you  had  as  much  trouble  with  me  as  she  has  with  James. 
He  said  he  always  fought  hard  for  these  morceaux,  but  felt  after- 
wards that  they  were  best  out.  .  .  . 


51 6  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  chap,   xx 

Jamaica  Plain,  Jan.  20,  1866.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wipe. 

.  .  .  After  my  long  egotistical  letter  of  yesterday,  I  am  ashamed 
to  write  again.  But  I  hear  so  many  nice  stories,  and  see  so  many 
nice  friends  of  yours,  that  I  should  like  to  keep  on  gossiping  to 
you  all  the  livelong  time. 

Lots  of  things  you  would  have  enjoyed,  were  said  at  table, 
and  my  poor  memory  has  let  them  all  slip.  How  I  long  for  you 
to  go  about  with  me  among  these  dear  good  people,  to  whom  my 
soul  is  being  knit  fast  every  day! 

What  an  ocean  of  life  breaks  on  these  rocks  of  Boston  So- 
ciety! 

At  eight,  Edward  and  I  walked  off  together,  he  to  a  German 
lesson,  I  to  Mrs.  Revere's  and  Josiah  Quincy's.  .  .  . 

Miss  Phillips,  the  prima  donna,  was  there,  and  sang  opera 
music  and  "Auld  Robin  Gray"  in  superb  stage  style.  Rather 
too  strongly  spiced  heef  a  la  mode  for  my  delicate  taste.  But  she 
is  a  good  girl,  handsome,  in  spite  of  her  coiffure,  and  in  abound- 
ing health  and  spirits,  gloriously  in  love  with  stage  life,  and 
beloved  and  respected  by  all  her  friends. 

Dr.  Guillamette  sang  also  several  times,  and  played  his  own 
accompaniment,  a  thundering  sweet  basso.  His  piece  de  resis- 
tance was  the  "Wandering  Jew." 

I  talked  with  Hillard,  who  came  alone;  Rev.  Bulfinch; 
Edmund  Quincy,  and  Miss  Quincy  the  elder,  whom  I  like  more 
and  more,  and  shall  go  to  see.     As  I  shall  also  the  Miss  Inches. 

Mrs.  Revere  promised  to  make  my  excuses,  and  I  slipped  away 
to  escape  the  small  talk,  quavered  sostenuto  notes,  and  ice-cream, 
at  ten  and  sat  in  the  Depot,  and  walked  the  platforms,  and  watched 
the  inroad  of  passengers,  until  11. 10,  and  took  a  carriage  from 
the  Jamaica  Plain  Station  to  Joseph's  house,  and  sat  up  until 
two  o'clock  reading  "Nicholas  Nickleby."  I  feel  dreadfully 
used  up  to-day.  .  .  . 

Jamaica  Plain,  Friday,  Jan.  24,  1866.    To  his  Wife. 

The  vm  lecture  (9th  evening)  was  admirably  well  re- 
ceived. .  .  .  Lucretia  and  Nathan  were  there  as  usual,  and  said 
it  was  "splendid."  Aunt  Kitty,  and  Mrs.  Fisher,  and  George, 
who  is  studying  law,  came  into  the  little  room.  So  did  Chauncey, 
to  bring  me  Norton's  invitation.  Abby  Bent  and  her  husband 
came  in  also,  and  Sam  Johnson  who  had  come  up  from  Salem 
to  attend  the  Anti -slavery  Meeting,  and  take  part  in  the  great 
fight  between  Ajax  and  Achilles.     I  see  by  this  morning's  paper 


r866  LOWELL  LECTURES  517 

that  Wendell  Phillips  has  won  the  day,  and  Wm.  Lloyd  Garrison  "^ 
was  whipped  out  of  his  boots.  By  a  large  and  indignant  female 
majority  the  vote  was  to  continue  the  Organization,  to  uphold 
the  ark,  never  to  lower  the  banner,  alwa3'S  to  hurrah  for  Wendell, 
to  make  a  finance  committee  of  four  women!  and  to  conduct  the 
Society  on  as  offensive,  digressive,  demonstrative  and  impracti- 
cable a  system  as  possible.  .  .  .  But  although  I  make  fun  of  Wen- 
dell, I  must  confess  my  admiration  for  these  Amazons  and  Knights 
Errant,  who  are  resolved  to  fight  it  out  to  the  bitter  end,  and 
never  give  up  the  field  while  there  are  any  "faces  of  the  damned 
old  Gods"  to  be  covered  up  left. 

Yesterday  and  to-day  the  snow-storm  lasted.  I  painted 
and  wrote  and  slept  and  wished  myself  dead,  and  probably  will 
continue  to  live  on  in  that  amiable  mood  until  to-morrow  night 
when  I  shall  exchange  the  sentiment  for  a  wish  to  kill  somebody 
else.  I  have  now  and  then  a  slight  desire  to  see  you  once  more 
before  I  die.  Perhaps  you  will  oblige  me  by  coming  on  next 
week.  W^hy  don't  you  write  to  me  oftener?  I  have  never  re- 
ceived from  you  more  than  two  letters  a  day  except  once  or  twice 
when  I  got  three,  one  by  each  mail.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  I  bored 
holes  in  the  big  boots,  screwed  into  them  Joseph's  skates,  and  cut 
up  high  Dutch  on  the  pond  with  Eva,  until  I  dropped  with  ex- 
haustion. Couldn't  I  swear  a  little,  without  God  hearing  it  now 
and  then?     I  think  I  must  try  it  pretty  soon. 

Phh-adelphja,  Jan.  25,  1866.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Husband. 

...  I  believe  I  told  you  that  I  should  not  go  to  the  Parlor 
Concert,*  last  evening,  but  when  evening  came  Mrs.  Towne  kindly 
sent  her  carriage  to  take  the  girls  [Fanny  and  Mary]  and  me, 
so  I  felt  I  could  go.  The  music  was  exquisite,  Beethoven,  Mozart, 
and  a  most  perfect  "Invention  and  Gigue,"  by  Bach.  Poor  Miss 
Jackson  played  in  agony,  having  fallen  on  the  ice  three  days 
ago,  and  strained  a  nerve  in  her  hand  and  arm.  But  no  one 
knew  it.  ...  I  have  been  reading  aloud,  yesterday  and  to-day, 
a  little  volume  of  Ruskin's  that  Alex  lent  us,  called  "Sesame  and 

*  These  parlor  concerts,  organized  by  Miss  Anna  Jackson,  were  most 
delightful  occasions.  Miss  Jackson  took  the  piano  parts,  and  had  two 
or  three  stringed  instruments  besides,  and  the  music  was  of  the  very  best 
of  the  Classic  School.  At  first  they  were  held  in  the  largest  parlors  to  be 
found  among  the  homes  of  her  pupils.  But  later,  as  people  began  to  know 
of  them,  and  she  had  a  larger  assured  following,  they  were  held  in  Nata- 
torium  Hall,  which  seated  400  or  500  persons,  and  they  were  well  attended 
by  an  intelligent  and  enthusiastic  audience. 


5i8  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xx 

Lilies,"  two  lectures  delivered  at  Manchester,  which  are  per- 
fectly charming.  I  don't  know  when  I  ever  enjoyed  anything 
more.     Indeed  I  must  read  them  again  with  you. 

Jamaica  Plain,  Jan.  28,  1866.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wife. 

.  .  .  Yesterday  I  went  early  in  town,  and  painted  a  dozen 
diagrams,  on  my  hands  and  knees,  on  the  floor,  dining  at  three 
o'clock  with  Mrs.  and  Mr.  Revere,  and  returning  to  paint  again 
until  dark.     I  then  went  to  Mrs.  Parker's  to  tea.  .  .  . 

My  lecture  on  the  Alphabet  went  off  finely.  .  .  . 

I  was  very  much  fatigued  with  the  lecture.  ...  I  slept  very 
little  all  night,  but  woke  up  quite  well,  and  have  been  talking  with 
Joseph  and  the  rest  all  day;  hearing  him  read  the  Edinburgh, 
and  reading  myself  Mrs.  Gaskell's  "North  and  South."  Last 
evening,  alone,  I  read  the  Radical  containing  R.  W.  Emerson's 
superb  lecture  to  the  divinity  students,  which  gave  him  his  first 
fame.  .  .  . 

Boston,  Thursday,  Feb.  i,  1866.    To  ms  Wife. 

...  I  should  have  written  to  you  yesterday,  and  feel  guilty 
at  not  making  more  effort;  but  you  will  see  how  difficult  it  was 
by  what  I  shall  tell  you. 

After  drawing  my  diagrams  and  wiiting  to  you  on  Tuesday, 
I  rode  out  to  spend  a  happy  hour  and  take  tea  with  Aunt  Kitty. 

My  bones  were  full  of  rheumatism,  but  after  tea  I  walked 
down  to  Chauncey's,  found  his  door  locked,  and  had  to  pilot  my- 
self, out  past  Estes  Howe's  and  Charl-es  Eliot's  house  along 
the  Norton  Avenue  back  to  the  old  mansion,  in  the  snow.  What 
a  grand  old  place  it  is!  What  a  splendid  library  parlor  it  is! 
Books  from  ceiling  to  floor  from  X  to  Y.  [Sketch.]  At  R.  on  a  small 
table  stood  a  recent  painting  of  Ruskin's;  a  great  boulder  of  the 
Alps,  painted  to  show  how  much  history  there  is  in  a  stone,  mag- 
nificent bit  of  drawing  and  coloring.  C.  E.  Norton  received  me 
cordially  and  introduced  me  to  his  mother  and  wife,  and  two 
lovely  sisters.  Soon  came  Dr.  Palfrey,  Longfellow,  Gray,  Lov- 
ering,  Jeffries  Wyman,  C.  Eliot,  C.  Wright,  and  somebody  else 
who  knew  me  very  well,  but  I  couldn't  make  him  out.  My  even- 
ing was  charming  in  every  respect.  It  began  with  a  long  talk 
with  Norton,  then  with  his  wife,  then  with  his  elder  sister,  and 
others  afterwards,  ending  after  oysters  and  hock  and  ice-cream, 
with  a  charming  tete-a-tete  over  sherry  and  cigars  between  Norton, 
Dr.  Palfrey,  Wyman  and  me,  about  bindings,  with  all  sorts  of 
anecdotes.    I  had  always  wished  to  see  Dr.  Palfrey.    He  was 


i866  LOWELL  LECTURES  519 

full  of  life  and  humor  and  old  stories.  Said  he  did  not  remem- 
ber you,  but  spoke  with  affection  and  respect  of  your  father 
and  spoke  of  his  connection  with  "Jo"  in  the  Commonwealth 
paper  in  1843-1844. 

They  pressed  me  to  stay.  I  wish  I  had ;  .  .  .  but  I  had  to  go 
back  to  town,  so  as  to  get  down  to  Salem.  We  formed  a  proces- 
sion over  the  grounds.  Gray  and  I  walking  together,  and  one 
and  another  dropped  off,  Wyman  last,  leaving  Chauncey  and 
me  to  reach  the  cars  together. 

I  reached  the  Parker  House  after  midnight;  lay  awake  a 
good  deal ;  and  was  roused  early  by  bad  pains  in  my  upper  chest. 
I  could  imagine  nothing  better  than  pleurisy,  or  pneumonia,  and 
the  hospital,  and  felt  very  forlorn.  I  rose  however  at  8.30,  and 
breakfasted  slowly,  and  then  crawled  to  the  Institute,  hardly  able 
to  catch  a  good  breath.  Feeling  better,  I  painted  all  the  morn- 
ing, got  all  my  diagrams  mounted  on  the  curtains;  dined;  talked 
with  Converse,  and  then  went  with  Hubbard  to  talk  with  Bart- 
lett,  of  Little  and  Brown,  about  printing. 

I  went  to  see  Miss  Whitney  in  a  charming  studio.  Her 
boy  Lotus  Eater,  or  "Sehnsucht,"  stood  in  the  back  room  on  a 
turntable,  finished  in  marble,  after  many  dangerous  adventures. 
It  is  beautiful,  original,  native,  modem,  with  a  touch  of  the 
ancient  spirit.  [Sketch.]  At  X,  was  a  little  plaster  group  of 
babies,  one  with  wings.  At  Y,  a  great  recumbency  hid  with  a 
sheet.     We  talked  a  half-hour. 

Lying  down  for  an  hour  in  my  room,  my  distress  came  back 
so  strongly,  that  I  dressed  and  got  over  to  Mrs.  Parker's,  to  see 
if  Joseph  and  Miss  Clapp  had  got  home.  They  were  there, 
cosily  reading  the  papers.  I  told  them  how  ill  I  was,  and  that 
I  was  going  to  Dr.  Gould,  which  I  did.  He  laid  me  down  for  an 
auscultation,  and  then  his  daughter  spread  a  mustard  plaster 
for  my  breast.  We  chatted  until  it  burned;  then  coffee  upstairs 
with  the  ladies;  then  a  half -hour  with  the  Cottings,  Lucretia  and 
Nathan,  and  others  in  the  waiting-room;  then  an  extemporary 
lecture,  finishing  up  the  Alphabet;  voice  loud,  clear  and  easy; 
then  lots  of  friends,  General  Gordon  and  wife  (tea  Monday  night), 
Duncan  Lamb,  Kitty  Ireland,  etc.  .  .  .  Walked  with  Aunt  Kitty 
on  my  way  to  the  Academy  Meeting,  where  I  heard  three  memoirs 
and  saw  Gray,  C.  T.  Jackson,  Warren,  Oliver,  Chauncey  Wright, 
a  splendid  new  bust  of  Lyell,  etc.  Dr.  Gould  prescribed  for 
me  Dover's  powder,  calomel,  whiskey  punch,  which  I  took,  and 
slept  well.  This  morning  I  have  spent  with  Aunt  Kitty  at  the 
Reveres,  and  with  Uncle  James,  and  Aunt  Mary.     Joseph  was 


520  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  CSAP.  xx 

angry  with  me  yesterday  for  going  round  instead  of  going  to  bed. 
But  I  know  best  how  to  treat  myself,  .  .  . 


Jamaica  Plain,  Feb.  2,  1866.    To  his  Wife, 

.  .  .  We  had  a  jolly  evening,  Joseph  in  the  highest  spirits, 
reading  all  sorts  of  things  to  us,  in  alternate  basso,  alto,  squeako, 
and  nasalo.  Nelly  brought  him  his  new  Webster  illustrated 
dictionary,  over  which  he  pored  long  and  enthusiastically.  He 
read  me  to  sleep  before  dinner  on  the  sofa,  by  translating  for  me 
a  French  essay  on  Parker  by  Michel.  After  dinner,  he  trans- 
lated for  me  a  lithograph  letter  and  section  of  the  lakes  and 
mountains  of  Neuchatel,  by  Desor,  just  arrived  by  mail. 

We  are  all  rejoicing  at  the  passage  of  the  second  great  con- 
stitutional amendment — apportioning  representation  to  the  suf- 
frage classes.  We  agree  that  President  Johnson  must  succumb 
to  Congress.  ,  .  . 

Cambridge,  Feb.  5,  1866.    To  his  Wife. 

,  ,  .  I  must  tell  you  how  busy  a  time  I  have  had  since  my 
last  letter  written, — on  Saturday  morning,  I  think  it  was.  I 
spent  all  the  rest  of  the  day  (after  my  very  bad  night's  rest) 
lounging,  and  reading  a  novel  of  Mrs.  Gaskell's.  After  dinner, 
Joseph  and  I  marched  off  to  the  cars  and  across  the  Common, 
he  to  Mrs.  Parker's  to  get  Miss  Clapp,  and  I  to  the  Institute 
to  hang  up  two  or  three  more  little  pieces,  which  I  had  already 
made  to  hand.  My  lecture  was  given  with  great  effort,  John 
A.  Lowell  and  Nathan  Hale  being  the  only  persons  who  came  in 
to  talk  with  me  beforehand.  But  afterwards  there  came  a  crowd 
— Miss  Shepherd,  Hon.  J.  Williams,  Abby  and  Susan  Bent,  and 
several  others.  Aunt  Kitty  and  Chauncey  walked  with  me  to 
the  cars,  and  I  found  Estes  at  home  ready  to  welcome  me.  Whip- 
ple and  his  wife,  I  forgot — Whipple  said  it  was  the  most  audacious 
thing  he  had  ever  heard  in  his  life — but  splendid.  John  A. 
Lowell  remarked  that  the  last  sentence  saved  the  lecture.  Chaun- 
cey said  the  same  to  me  yesterday,  when  in  our  afternoon  con- 
versation in  his  room  he  proposed  another  classification — into 
Superstitious  and  Religious — and  agreed  to  my  proposal  to  sub- 
divide thus  all  four  of  my  grand  types. 

Sunday  morning  called  on  Aunt  Kitty.  .  .  .  Then  to  Mrs. 
Higginson's,  where  Martha  Cochran  was  all  ready  to  show  me 
a  sweet  picture  of  Fuller's.  Fuller  has  married  Alice  Higginson, 
and  is  farming  at  Deerfield,  but  is  painting  again  this  winter, 


i866  LOWELL  LECTURES  521 

and  the  Yales  are  buying  his  pictures.  He  is  an  American  Rem- 
brandt. Mrs.  Higginson  seemed  to  know  you  well.  Everybody 
speaks  so  affectionately  of  you — everybody. 

It  was  now  dinner  time  and  I  found  James  Russell  Lowell  at 
Estes'  house.  After  dinner  we  had  a  smoke,  and  a  long  talk 
together  in  the  study.  He  told  me  lots  of  funny  stories,  includ- 
ing some  of  Gowrowski;  too  long  to  write — but  good  to  keep 
till  I  get  home  again. 

Then  I  went  over  to  spend  two  hours  with  Chauncey,  discuss- 
ing the  Infinite  and  Absolute,  as  if  we  had  never  before  broached 
the  subject.  Then  a  walk  with  him  in  the  bitter  air  to  Mrs. 
Jewett's.  and  a  tea-table  talk  with  MrS.  James  K.  Mills,  the 
Cochrans,  Mrs.  Chiverick,  etc.  By  this  time  I  was  sick  tired. 
But  I  had  heard  from  Aunt  Kitty  that  Susan  Hillard  expected  me 
in  town,  so  I  walked  back  with  Chauncey  to  the  car,  and  got 
some  rest  in  it;  but  got  lost  among  the  hill  windings,  and  found 
myself  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  State  House.  The  zodiacal 
light  was  magnificent;  I  have  never  but  twice  seen  it  in  such 
perfection. 

Found  General  Buford  and  wife  there,  and  afterwards  Julia 
Metcalf,  but  not  Henry  James  and  wife  as  they  expected.  We 
had  an  odd  time  with  this  military  enthusiast,  and  child-hearted 
old  Hermetic  mystic.  He  adores  General  Hitchcock,  and  sent 
his  love  to  Joe  [Lesley],  of  whom  he  spoke  (at  Island  No.  10) 
with  the  highest  and  warmest  praises.  At  quarter  to  ten  I  took 
Julia  home  and  arrived  myself  at  Estes  at  quarter  to  eleven. 
To-day  I  devote  to  my  last  lecture,  and  to-morrow  to  getting 
ready  to  go  home  on  Wednesday. 

Of  his  last  lecture  he  merely  says:  "I  gave  the  audience 
my  Arkism.  They  were  as  patient  as  lambs  under  the  in- 
fliction." 

Returned  from  the  social  enjoyment  and  excitement  of 
his  weeks  in  Boston,  he  again  took  up  his  professional  life 
in  Pennsylvania. 

Feb.  28,  1866.    Susan  I.  Lesley  to  her  Aunt 
Miss  Catherine  Robbins. 

...  As  to  our  beloved  country,  Peter  and  I  are  both  killed 
with  the  President's  behavior,  and  feel  that  he  is  putting  back  the 
good  cause  for  many  years.  I  guess  Wendell  Phillips  understood 
the  drift  of  events  after  all.      I  never  could  see  that  beneficent 


522  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  chap,  xx 

providence  in  the  removal  of  our  upright  and  good  Abraham 
Lincoln,  which  seems  so  clear  to  many  minds.  It  was  always 
an  unmitigated  affliction  to  me.  I  don't  doubt  in  the  least  that 
God  will  effect  His  own  good  purposes  in  spite  of  that  terrible 
loss,  but  that  his  death  was  not  quite  untimely  and  quite  con- 
trary to  the  will  of  providence,  I  never  shall  believe.  Wordsworth 
tells  about  "the  years  that  bring  the  philosophic  mind";  surely 
we  need  it  more  and  more  as  time  goes  on. 

RiDGEWAY,  June  23,  1866.    Peter  Lesley  to  his  Wipe. 

...  It  has  been  a  long  time  since  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  sitting 
down  after  breakfast,  in  a  tolerably  quiet  place,  with  the  feeling 
that  I  could  spend  the  whole  morning,  if  I  chose  to  do  so,  in  writ- 
ing out  my  thoughts  to  you.  I  cannot  satisfy  my  judgment  that 
it  was  intended  for  man  to  Hve  at  the  railroad  pace  which  we 
pursue  in  our  country, — to  pile  occupation  upon  occupation, 
until  we  lose  our  soul's  best  life  beneath  the  heaps, — to  under- 
take so  much  that  all  is  done  in  haste  and  nothing  well, — to  feel 
the  spur  in  the  side  even  where  the  road  is  shady,  and  the  pros- 
pect beautiful, — to  forget  there  was  a  past,  and  that  there  is  to 
be  a  future,  in  the  noise  and  hurry  of  the  presjent  moment.  Surely 
we  have  departed  many  thousand  years  and  miles  away  from 
the  patriarchal  life.  How  hard  it  is  to  imagine  an  Abram  sitting 
at  the  door  of  his  tent  and  receiving  angels,  to  wait  upon  them! 
Yet  surely  a  part  of  every  one's  existence  should  be  thus  spent. 
But  cities  are  the  antipodes  of  the  plains  of  Mamre,  quite  as 
much  as  the  Pere -la-Chaise  is  the  contrast  of  the  cave  of  Machpelah. 
You  would  be  horrified  at  the  hostility  of  this  wild  life  to  the 
ideal — the  heau  ideal — how  beautiful  it  is! — which  haimts  the 
poet's  soul  and  makes  the  blessedness  of  the  saintly  life.  Idle- 
ness with[out]  leisure,  leisure  without  cultivation,  activity  with- 
out fine  monuments,  energy  displayed  for  mean  purposes,  hurry 
and  bustle,  brutality  intensified  and  made  more  malicious  and 
self-destructive  by  civiUzation,  such  are  one's  surroundings  in 
a  country  like  this.  I  write  in  what  ought  to  be  a  comfortable 
inn,  in  what  ought  to  be  a  lovely  village.  The  streets  are  broad 
and  well  kept,  the  houses  good  and  large,  the  gardens  cleared 
of  weeds,  the  sidewalks  and  Kttle  bridges  all  in  order,  a  church 
and  Court  House  and  unoffending  plain  walled  jail  at  the  top  of 
a  slope,  behind  which  rises  a  grandly  wooded  hill,  from  the  top 
of  which  spreads  back  for  miles  the  densest  forest  in  the  state. 
No  doubt  if  I  could  get  within  the  charmed  circle  of  the  family 
in  these  houses,  I  would  find  good  people;   but  the  trade  of  the 


i866  LOWELL  LECTURES  523 

covmtry  spoils  all, — lumber — coal — oil.  A  universal  demoral- 
ity  pervades  the  atmosphere;  in  cars,  in  depots,  in  bar-rooms, 
in  the  street.  A  race,  originally  well  derived, — in  fact  several 
races,  mingling,  have  been  spoiled  by  intermixture,  spoiled  by 
the  melee  into  which  this  grand  battle  of  the  forces  of  man  with 
the  forces  of  nature  has  developed  itself.  If  a  population  lives 
too  long  stationary,  it  spoils  like  water  kept  in  casks;  but  if  it 
moves  all  the  time,  it  never  ripens,  like  wine  always  disturbed. 
Ideal  society  is  the  product  of  two  tendencies,  the  conservative 
and  the  progressive.  We  need  home  associations,  beautified  by 
the  arts  and  enlightened  by  travel.  But  there  ought  to  be  a  plus 
of  quietness,  and  sober  staying  at  home,  to  grow — and  a  minus 
of  excitement.  Think  of  lions,  and  braman  cows,  in  a  travelling 
menagerie — and  you  will  have  my  conception  of  what  people 
become — who  live  the  lives  of  Americans.  Every  trait  changes 
from  nature.  All  distinctions  disappear.  The  lion  and  the 
cow  are  equally  tame,  and  equally  sick  and  cross.  The  gentle- 
man and  the  churl  jostle  each  other  into  one  common  degrada- 
tion, and  make  common  cause  for  a  compromise  of  self-indul- 
gence; the  gentleman  brutalized  by  the  chvu^l,  and  the  churl 
taught  presumption  by  the  gentleman.  I  am  all  the  time  pictur- 
ing to  myself  a  paradise,  in  which  singing  will  take  the  place  of 
swearing,  and  courteous  conversation  of  obscure  and  horrid 
gossip.  But  where  will  it  be  found?  It  wearies  me  of  exist- 
ence,— this  ubiquitous  debased  democracy,  without  culture  ex- 
cept from  newspapers,  without  aspirations  except  for  some  inde- 
finable political  elevation,  which  is  in  its  very  nature  subversive 
of  all  fine  sentiment,  which  is  retrograde  and  downward  towards 
the  infernal. 

Can  we  save  our  children  from  this  awful  abyss  of  American- 
ism ?  Surely  the  church  must  be  the  refuge  of  those  who  see  and 
wathe  \sic\  the  world, — as  it  always  has  been.  We  may  despise 
cant  and  dread  hvpocrisy  as  much  as  we  can,  yet  there  is  an  un- 
speakable elevation  above  common  life,  even  in  the  lowest  of  all 
the  many  courts  of  the  House  of  the  Lord  on  the  Holy  Hill  of 
Zion.  I  fled  from  the  tavern  last  Wednesday  evening  to  the 
church  in  Huntingdon,  and  found  it  a  heaven  upon  earth.  I 
followed  the  church  bells — blessed  bells.  There  was  reading  of 
the  Scriptures,  two  or  three  halting  prayers,  two  or  three  hymns 
and  that  was  all ;  but  it  was  enough  to  calm  the  perturbed  spirit 
and  give  it  a  chance  to  hear  the  still  small  voice  of  the  Spirit 
speaking  better  things  than  all  the  science  and  business  of  the 
XIX  century. 


524  LIFE  AND   LETTERS  CHAP.  XX 

What  is  good  and  pretty  of  this  village,  is  the  result  of  a  New 
England  influence,  which  has  entered  this  state  from  Western 
New  York,  and  is  slowly  taking  possession  of  the  ground  South- 
ward. Every  footstep  of  this  New  England  genius  touches  my 
emotions,  like  the  footprint  on  the  sands  of  a  desert  island.  But 
it  awakens  such  a  longing  for  the  land  where  it  is  at  home.  Surely 
the  time  must  come  when  this  homesickness  will  be  cured  by 
my  going  home.  There  are  plenty  of  villages  in  New  York, 
in  which  we  could  live,  if  we  could  not  in  New  England.  .  .  . 

[Philadelphia],  July  g,  1866.    To  his  Wife. 

,  .  .  Yesterday  I  devoted  to  the  "Ecce  Homo."  It  filled  me 
with  wonder.  It  is  the  greatest  of  religious  books.  I  shall  read 
it  over  and  over  again.  I  shall  read  every  word  of  it  in  your 
presence.  After  taking  tea  with  Pliny  [Earle  Chase],  and  going 
with  him  to  sit  in  the  cool  League  Garden,  and  being  driven 
home  again  by  a  thunder  gust,  I  read  aloud  to  him  two  chapters. 
No  wonder  the  whole  English  world  accepts  the  book.  It  is  infi- 
nitely satisfying. 

This  morning  I  began  Renan's  "Apostles";  and  am  more 
pleased  with  it  than  with  his  "Jesus."  What  he  says  in  self- 
vindication  in  Chapter  one  is  finer  than  I  thought  the  man  could 
say.  He  repudiates  miracles  distinctly,  but  praises  the  church. 
He  anticipates  the  drawing  together  of  the  Christian  Protestant, 
Christian  Catholic,  and  Jewish  churches,  while  they  will  always 
remain  separate.  He  predicts  a  split  in  each,  between  the  bigots 
and  the  liberals. 

Ttiesday,  July  10,  1866. 

Yesterday  I  did  an  immense  day's  work  from  ten  to  five,  and 
finished  the  topography  of  the  whole  map.  I  forgot  my  dinner, 
and  then  as  I  could  not  get  it  at  home,  had  to  wait  until  5.30  at 
the  League,  when  it  nearly  killed  me;  and  after  waiting  until 
eight  o'clock  to  see  General  Sherman,  I  was  seized  with  melan- 
choly, and  walked  to  hear  the  music  in  Vine  Street;  but  it  did 
me  no  good  and  I  returned  home  to  read  that  great  chapter  of 
"Ecce  Homo"  which  completes  the  first  part,  and  sets  forth  the 
distinction  between  philosophy  and  Christianity,  Socrates  and 
Christ.  I  here  find  all  my  secret  thoughts  (of  the  last  two  years) 
openly,  clearly,  tersely,  and  with  demonstration  expressed.  It 
is  the  decline  of  love  that  dates  the  decline  of  goodness.  It  is 
the  withdrawal  which  science  makes  of  its  votary  from  active 
benevolence,    that    antagonizes   so    successfully   his   piety.     The 


i866  LOWELL  LECTURES  525 

church — the  church, — that  is  the  soul's  castle  and  farm-house 
together.  The  church  living,  active,  benevolent,  growing, — not 
the  church  dead,  dogmatic,  bigoted,  persecuting  and  self-indul- 
gent. 

Renan  and  this  author  have  much  in  common.  But  there  is 
a  marked  difference  of  tone, — and  I  think  this  man  makes  mira- 
cles the  base  of  all  his  edifice,  when  he  built  the  history  of  Chris- 
tianity. 

Do  you  notice  that  the  Italians  are  defeated  in  their  first  great 
battle,  just  as  we  were  at  Bull  Run?  They  will  have  to  sub- 
stitute some  able  general  for  their  jolly,  rash,  high-spirited  Victor, 
who  can't  gain  a  victory.  Let  him  be  an  Immanuel,  but  not  a 
shaddai. 

How  many  princes  are  afield  just  now!  They  dotted  the  fields 
like  blackberries.     Prince  Amadeus  received  a  scratch,  it  seems. . . . 

In  August  came  a  meeting  of  the  American  Association 
for  the  Advancement  of  Science,  in  Northampton,  to  which 
my  father  and  mother  both  went.  It  was  a  very  delightful 
occasion.  "A  brilliant  meeting,"  says  my  mother  in  a  letter 
of  August  14.  My  father  delivered  his  obituary  memoir 
on  Dr.  Edward  Hitchcock,*  and  this  address  caused  some 
commotion  in  the  town  among  the  ministers  of  the  orthodox 
churches. 

Dr.  Hitchcock  was  a  man  with  many  intellectual  interests, 
and  the  fact  that  he  was  at  one  time  both  president  and  pro- 
fessor of  natural  theology  and  geology  in  Amherst  College 
seems  to  point  to  an  equal  interest  in  two  somewhat  an- 


*  Edward  Hitchcock,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  geologist.  Born  in  Deerfield, 
Mass.,  May  24,  1793.  Died  in  Amherst,  February  27,  1864.  Principal  of 
Deerfield  Academy,  1818.  1821-1825  pastor  of  the  Congregational  church 
in  Conway,  and  at  the  same  time  engaged  in  a  geological  survey  of  Western 
Massachusetts.  1825-44  professor  of  chemistry  and  natural  history  in 
Amherst  College.  1844-54  president  of  Amherst  College  and  professor  of 
natural  theology  and  geology.  "When  he  resigned  the  presidency,  he 
retained  the  professorship,  and  devoted  the  remainder  of  his  life  to  his 
favorite  science  of  geology,  but  always  in  its  connection  with  religion. 

His  many  writings  were  also  chiefly  upon  Geology  or  Theology,  al- 
though he  wrote  also  upon  literary  subjects  and  upon  other  branches  of 
science.  I  note  only  two  of  his  principal  publications,  "The  Religion  of 
Geology  and  its  Connected  Sciences"  (1850)  and  "ReHgious  Truths  Il- 
lustrated from  Science"  (1857).  {Condensed  from  Universal  Encyclopcedia, 
vol.  V.) 


526  LIFE   AND   LETTERS  chap,  xx 

tagonistic  lines  of  research,  and  would  seem  also  to  'ustify 
the  final  paragraphs  in  my  father's  address  :-— 

"Such  was  Edward  Hitchcock,  one  of  the  Fathers  of  American 
Geology,  and  one  who  continued  to  the  close  of  a  long  life  to  be 
an  original  investigator.  A  man  of  ardent  fancy,  impulsive, 
curious  and  credulous,  docile  and  teachable  beyond  any  adult 
man  of  science  I  ever  knew;  modest  to  a  marvel;  yet  with  all 
this,  a  man  of  sufi&cient  self-reliance  and  determination  for  the 
most  important  practices  of  life,  patient  of  difficulties,  persever- 
ing and  industrious  for  final  success  in  any  undertaking,  sound 
in  judgment  and  disciplined  in  temper,  a  friend  to  all  and  the 
friend  of  all ;  his  whole  career  laid  claim  to  eminence,  which  would 
have  been  pre-eminence  in  American  Theology,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  interference  of  his  Science;  or  in  American  Science,  had 
it  not  been  for  his  devotion  to  the  ecclesiastical  and  financial  inter- 
ests of  the  College  which  he  saved  from  premature  decay,  and 
refounded  upon  the  deliberate  sacrifice  of  his  own  ambition. ' '  [Taken 
from  a  letter-press  copy  of  the  address.] 

It  was  this  last  sentence  (which  I  have  italicized)  that 
made  the  commotion,  and  of  which  my  mother  in  a  letter 
of  August  23d  writes: — 

Such  a  tempest  in  a  teapot  as  the  last  lines  of  your  eulogy 
have  made!  Dr.  Hall  of  the  Edwards  church  preached  upon  it 
last  Sunday,  and  was  invited  by  the  Young  Men's  Christian  As- 
sociation to  repeat  it  next  Sunday  evening,  which  he  is  going  to 
do.  The  Northampton  Editor  proposes  that  Dr.  Eddy's  and 
Dr.  Hall's  sermons  should  both  be  printed  along  with  your 
eulogy — making  one  volume. — It  makes  one  laugh.  How  much 
more  folks  must  think  of  Theology  than  Religion,  after  all ! 


$ 


BOSTON  COLLEGE 


3  9031    01765307  2 


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Boston  College 
Chestnut  Hill,  Mass,    02167 


